The magic wood

In the middle of the magic wood near the rocky seashore

And the rushing tides and pools of light
We sat on an old  wooden bench..and heard the  birds singing.
A robin came onto the arm of the seat,
And to town children this seemed a miracle

we didn’t know they were accustomed to being fed there.
So we breathed very lightly
lest our noise should frighten away this tiny being..
Now,if I am tense,if I am wise,
I want to remember the wood and imagine the bird
And the peace will come back..
The joy of that Silence.
How did we ever leave it and for what?
What else has value
except the touch of your hand
and our eyes meeting softly
and the peace of the deep green shade

And the  enchanting song of the high in the wildwood tree tops   birds