Through fields of clover, the soft winds roam, Under boughs of willow, a place like home. Each petal tells tales of youth’s sweet refrain, In the heart of the Earth, all pleasures remain. To breathe in the wonder that spirals around, And find in the silence where beauty is found. O gentle spirits that wander like me, I sing to the echoes of this life’s wild spree!
- Arthur Rimbaud