Sometimes a tree, standing strong and alive.
Sometimes a bee taking flight from her hive.
Sometimes a stag, fleet of foot and proud.
Sometimes a river, powerful and loud.
Whether water or earth or fire or air,
He is the spirit you feel everywhere.
Take a leisurely walk through his forest someday,
But take care not to have your mind stolen away.
He is the hunter, the man with great horns,
Whose clothing is foliage, whose skin is shorn.
In face he is shadowed, with eyes deep and green.
In soul he is wise, enigmatic, unseen.
His legend rings out over many an age,
Over many a woodland, and many a page.
Harm not his kingdom, not his gentle land;
His blessing is yours if you take his hand.
In his world of summer, the newly-dead roam,
Waiting for his guidance to see them home.
To the vast wilderness your prayers should be sent.
Ask for strength and for peace in the life you've been lent.
Remember always the heart of the vine,
And you will be safe in his arms divine.