The Alder Grove

The wind blows meadow grasses to and fro
The thrush's song surrounds a fawning doe
Drops of dew fast clinging to my feet
Thinking of the one's I've met and those I'll meet
The long road traveled, longer still ahead
Longing for a place to rest my weary head
Stumble upon a hidden waterhole
A place to think and cleanse my soul
I take a rest under the Alder Grove
The only place I have to call my home
A comfort to my worn and weary bones
Until I venture back to the unknown