Dryad
I’ve never lived in a wood nymph’s forestwith magic crossroads that leadto my tree housewhere expressways for walkingare deer-trodden paths,the bus line a creek running through If I was a dryad in an ancient oak forest,I’d carpet my home with mosshang a hammock high in the canopyfor misty summer days On Tuesdays I’d flit to … More Dryad