One day I wanÂdered through an old woods
Where beech branchÂes touched over my head—
the ground beneath my feet soft with moss
and slick with last year’s walÂnuts and beechnuts.
I tripped over a molderÂing log and stumÂbled through a
bramÂble into a sunÂny clearÂing floored with grasses.
Into my ears came a sound that thrilled my soul, straight
to my heart.
What could this be? A music I canÂnot describe filled the
sun-dapÂpled clearÂing; I searched around me for
the cause. A bugling swan, an errant owl, a French horn?
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I laughed at my own imagination—I was amid hunÂdreds of acres
Of wildÂland in Kentucky; from whence would come a symphony?
Scanning the sky I was delightÂed to see a douÂble flight
of long-winged birds, sandÂhill cranes with legs trailÂing behind,
Trumpeting a song to swell my being with round notes of joy.
