The Wind in the Trees

It’s a habit of mine, which formed
When, late in childhood I was torn
From my land of peace and beauty,
To a world of greed and duty –
That, when the heaviness is too much,
When I can no longer bear the touch
Of grief and sorrow’s cold,
Of sadnesses untold,
I go and walk amongst the trees,
Through the valleys and the fields that free
The suffering in my heart,
And bring some light in to the dark.
Slowly grief and sorrow fade,
Softly a sense of peace pervades 
The chambers of my weary soul,
And forgotten faith and joy unfold –
And the wind in the trees
And the scent on the breeze,
And the whispering reeds
And the falling leaves,
And the things in between that no one else sees:
The magic and whimsy you have to believe,
Return me once more to my rightful state,
And let the leaden heaviness abate –
And for a moment I am once more,
In that land where I lived before,
A land where imagination and mystery remained,
Where love and honour and freedom reigned.

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