Return to Wild Wood

This England.
High sky,
mid-afternoon.
Its early summertime,
a light rain falls.

Here we both are.
Standing.

Finger to finger,
handsome in rags
amongst the trees, bees,
butterflies.

A song runs through us.
Scents of melody,
arpeggio a moment,
bass clef bound.

This is more than love.
My love.