I am hurt, and I need to heal,
Where can I go, where can I rest?
The pain is spiritual, but real,
And it keeps me from sleeping, lest
My dopamine dreams conceal,
The answer, the cure, the blue-green vale
Of pine trees, and grass, and peaceful air,
A portion of nature, pure but frail...
And I lay me down on the pine needles, where
The shade of the branches cover me,
To protect from the rains of mystery...
And I relax amidst magic blue-green trees,
Arboreal peace, an enchanted breeze,
Cooling, calming, curing the disease...
The trees are like gods, so I pray, on my knees,
To the quiet of the hollow, its being to cherish,
Every day, every month, every year, 'till I perish.
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