Nottingham’s noble forest,
Robin’s hallowed hood,
the deep, dense Sherwood.
There, birdsong is purest,
inner silence surest,
I sat where time stood.
Settle your spirit,
Ground your body in soil,
Root your soul,
nourish and heal it.
Surrender the trouble and toil,
all worldly things do spoil.
Trees speak, do you hear it?
Oak, birch and pine
whisper in filtered sunshine:
“Seize this grand ol’ day,
with us sing and merrily sway.
Come on, don’t be shy,
let the Great Breeze
lift you up on high,
above and beyond us trees
for that bird's eye view.
In times like these,
dare to be made new.
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