Where the Dryad Plays

The murmur of a summer stream
Within an ancient wood
That whispers secrets as it flows
Where centuries have stood.
A soft light filters through the trees
And spills along its shore
Warming the drowsy memories
Strewn on the forest floor. The sunlight dapples each small leaf
That falls beneath its gaze,

A cheery game of peek-a-boo
To pass the summer days.Around the bones of fallen trees
The small rill spills and sprays

And joy fills up the ancient woods
There, where the Dryad plays.