The rites of Spring

Pollen in the air 
baby lambs in the fields 

The structure of the universe infused betwixt the line and verse    
The tuneless note within the soul 

The unstraighted path with in the deepest wood that leads into the misty mountain which souls unto their very depth forever fail to grasp

 Not the realm of men or indeed any human influence  
A place of different magnitude, Which gives pause to reflect upon the deepest service  

Here all thoughts are lost in deepest time untouched by race memory and all the world is both eternal and fleeting both awake and in the deepest sleep a fugue which hides a deeper unity, heralding the change in season 

I have never known such sensation , such connection. Here it is whispered and heard by those that can hear such things " death and birth just the same , all is mystery and unending" knowledge is a treasure which must undoubtably be lost to serve the function of each generations rediscovery