Eucalyptus Wood

Today I walked over to the secret wood,
The secret wood that knows a mystery,
And one I cannot solve.

Perhaps it is the mystery of being still,
Which I have never learned. No, it cannot be
Because the leaves are always moving.

If I keep walking in these deep, dark shades,
Among the hanging boughs and grey-green leaves,
Smelling the aromatic scent powering the air,

Perhaps in a moment of verdant oblivion
The secret wood will reveal it’s mystery,
And I will be wise.


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