Winding

Part the grass, and carve a curvy path.
Slither through, so every blade
Brushes up against your scaly
Face, and rushes by you as you pass.

Alone, in a world of beautiful things
Reaching for you, and they 
Strive to get closer and
Closer to you, to be
One with you,
And they do.

These are your woods,
And the more you return,
The more the grass bends to your presence.
The light rustles through in a breeze behind you,
And the trees lay their shadows along in your wake
And the water seals quietly
Over your head, every time
That you slip away.