I run and run through bushy trees
Rose thorns tugging at my knees
My hair in a river of gold behind me
Hoping that nobody here would find me
And when I find my secret nook
The willow tree above the brook
I put myself in its great embrace
Leaves gently tickling my face
And I wait and listen to the trees
The soft, susurrus, whispery breeze
And then, before I can be seen,
I’m running again amidst the green
I hush the flowers, I hush the hills
To keep my secret a secret still
I quiet the birds, I quiet the breeze
And emerge ever-so-softly out of the trees.