the aeonian river grows still,
as if expecting the fish she bears home for, will playfully weave the missing splashy waves,
the deer that came for a gulp could sense the river’s chill,
she smiles and winks at the fragile river, the lion that chased her was back to its caves.
the archaean trees sway the leaves with a majestic skill,
as if to make the birds and animals around shew their accolades for the conjured octaves.
the seer mage came in search of an abode of peace, this is the place says his psychic will,
sitting back for a never ending penance, his life wields into a moral for knaves.
the stellarian sky inked blue with an invisible quill,
as if it is reading out a sonnet written about the forest’s spices and cloves.
the birds flutter high into the sky from yonder, echoing the monotonous trill,
they chirrup in unison to turn all the acrid memories into peaceful laves.