Awe in touching so close to a burgeoning trust

Growing only for the demands of must,

Truly to be all in a glance and a shudder

Imagining not more than the verdant summer,

Vast scrapes of rough undergrowth bring their lust

Following the trail of the sun soaked few,

Basking in the dawning resound of dew

Wild is the place to be,

Do not pick me.