The dryad sings her song in the breeze,
Pure, sweet, Nature’s canticle,
Praising the sun and the moon,
Thankful for the stars she wears in her hair,
And the deep sweet water she sips from the earth.
She raises her branches to the heavens,
Her trunk planted firmly in the ground,
Her roots growing dense and tangled below.
Strong, sturdy, well-balanced,
She is home to birds and bees and butterflies,
Squirrels and insects and creeping things.
The dryad and her tree offer food for many,
And shade for all.
She wears a cloak of stillness,
Watching busy lives come and go.
She blesses each of the little leaves,
That join together to make this mighty tree.
The dryad cherishes the soil that gives her life,
Growing each day one day at a time,
Taller, wider, ring by ring.
She sings a soft song of silence,
Of giving and taking for the good of all,
Of things that were and are and may yet be,
Verses heard only by angels above and earthworms below
And those who take time to sit under a tree and listen.
By Kerry Vincent (c) 2010
Creative Kaleidoscope 