I am but an intruder here,
In this unblemished sylvan realm.
Where whispers to each woodland ear
Are secrets of the oak and elm.
Carpets of moss not spread for me,
But those who have a lighter tread,
And dwell in gentle harmony
With environs tied by natureís thread.
Embowered here by leaf and vine,
Fragile stands the quivering fern.
My shadow cannot intertwine,
Acceptance here I cannot earn.
Conversing not with me I know,
Tittering brook still tattles on.
Her tranquil song in clearest flow
Will sing of me until Iím gone.