Walking free beneath the trees,
at heart, the rustle of Spring leaves,
only fleeting specks of unforgiving sun,
no fear of scorching from which to run.
If a lake so cool shall settle there,
better yet, for freedom's care,
releases souls to wander long,
in Spring, divine, in Summer, strong.
No battles won, no wars be waged,
no curse of pain from freedom caged,
to be layered on with heavy weight,
to which our sun-barred souls relate.
If Summer's belly shall release the wind,
or if morning drops nature and then rescinds,
its gathering hum of retreating bees,
I'd walk in freedom beneath the trees.