On Hazelnut Hill, by the old Poah Tree
She sits very still in the swill of the sea
A gentle wind ~~ comes pouring in
And dances silk across her skin
When she opens her eyes, life is a dream
The blueberry skies are flowing with cream
Hung over hills of ephemeral grass
Flowing in flowers of colourful glass
Then sung in the choirs of fliers in chorus
Pouring a story of roaring aurorus
To swell every cell in a gel of her glowing
Shining a light of divine outer knowing
Timing how perfect it all seems be
Flowing as sure as the waves of the sea
Rushing to crushing in crystals that spill
On the cinnamon shores of Hazelnut Hill
Where a girl in her stillness overflows with the juices
The Mother of Earth in her mirthfulness uses
To paint pouring portraits of seas unto skies
That shine in the tears of a growing girl’s eyes
They fall to the earth, with the wisdom to know:
Only beautiful tears make the Poah Tree grow