Rising mist through the trees
Tendrils all afloat
Carry two buckets up from the moat
And let us climb aboard this fantastical
Who is the wizard in the trees?
Who speaketh of the first mists of spring?
And of their magical powers
Enchanting the senses ever more
With a tingling oxymoron: hot vaporous canopy
Blanketing the forest floor like the setting
Of a joyful vigil.
For on this day these mists will rise
And drift sweetly away
Yielding summer freshness,
And you, my darling, a delicate visage
through the trees,
Sweetness and light.