! Young Faun, stumbling along
The winding unseen road,
what unlikely events prolong the grace of a midsummer dawn,
The birds song is sweeter
breadcrumbs that litter the gutters
of the gaunt, the hungry crowds.
Ode to my dear son, a sun, its light breaking you,
A wave beats down into you
shield your torn skin as salty tears fall from it
Fiery shores of the unknown lie ahead of you
so whispered the silver birch, bed in the dirt
clouds hanging above a dark little island.