Go ye to that world of the oak forest green ,
Where the nightingales halo nature by song ;
That world would be listening then the charm serene
Of a breath living melody the years long .
There the wild blossoms in the wood keep straying ,
Losing petals dancing cancan over the weeds
Days and nights still reveling still out staying
To hear the birds that made spring from the buried seeds .
I can’t imagine a feather by hand caught
Nor a seed by a fine masterly swain blown
Can feed a pipeline of music so well wrought
To make the elements dance within the stone .
What’s this bird mothered by mystery and grace,
Burning by the flame of sound filling all space
With the spell of a thrilling touch to embrace
The threads of nature and turn the world about face .
Lined up marching to reach the oak forest green
Where the nightingales hallo nature by song ,
That world would be listening then the charm serene
Of a breath living melody the years all along.