Are they changing clothes or just wringing it dry?
Right in front of that dark wet murky swamp...
They can't be going in for a dive!!
Singing birds exploring the bed,
Under, over, above and around,
Little feet and little beak,
Oh my god they are so quick.
And what’s hidden in that fallen trunk?
Just creepy crawly or will there be a sleeping skunk?
Hang on, this is not the tropic,
We are only here way in the Nordic!
Oh man it is wild, alive and breathing
Still it so gentle, harmless and living,
It springs like no spring before,
The blooms of variety often so minute,
Sprawling over the bed, crawling all the floors, climbing the hills and high cliffs.
It’s for the little creatures and that purple butterfly..
It is not miniature after all,
You do realise how size can be deceiving, don’t you?
That silver thread, glistening in the sun,
He must be rich, willing to leave it down.
Oh there he is, threading the sliver glistening in the sun,
Rich indeed if he needs shoes for the 8 legs he owns.
What a show! Is it always on?
I’m twirling around and around,
How do you stop moving in the dancing lights,
the playing shadow changing moods
and that musical breeze gently, romantically swaying the branches.
It is so theatrical, it’s magical and it’s mystical.
Oh ssshhhh….hmm that sounds like little tap dancing..Who’s snapping the twigs?
Not at all visible to my naked eye…
Oh they live, in abundance, they live.
They dance all around me,
Are they having a gala, a fest or an adventure?
Oh how I wonder and I ponder,
They dance all around me,
Are they having a gala, a fest or an adventure?
Oh how I wonder and I ponder,
The mystery of the forest..
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