mental basin
Slabs of old stone with moss on it witnessed many a fight,
as nature-ordered green freshness rose skyward in the night.
The land expanded subtly in the same breadth, as if following;
dew drops on leaves on trees told tales of many a wandering.
We traversed small fields where the grass basked in the moonlight,
until we reached an edge of the garden and had to either return or flight,
so we trotted back to the forest proper, risking finding those in hiding:
the stealthy ones who waited and stalked those whose blades were slashing.
There were other types of blades, not of the ones to wield with might,
but instead of the same family as those which we call likewise of grass,
but much larger and morphologically menacing, with surprise to cause fright.
They thus ambushed their prey of a different kingdom, of another living class.
Amidst the dark verdure in the thick of roots and garden there shone a light.
Brilliance was cast as a sunlight phantom recited parts of a known esoteric tale:
a story of great warmth that remade until there were no more wounds in sight,
to then venture deeper into the forest, knowing we were to find more travail.
torpid sundial
tropic wave
lusty wind