The Glade
by Mark Harm


The setting sun casts long shadows upon a hill
through the green halo of springís canopy
Where a young woman of the finest skill
Practices her craft under an ancient tree

Each gentle tap of her supple hand
Sends forth the most intriguing sounds
Beautiful music that echoes throughout the land
And draws forth young fawns and hunting hounds

Where they lay at the maidenís feet
Their instincts overwhelmed by her art
And bask in the warmth of the fading sunís heat
With nary a growl or angry bark