Tire squeals and blazing horns barely whisper in the wood
Leaves cut the wind and soften the sounds on the street
While the warm sticky butterscotch sun
Is sifted into a sugary light
Dai da dai da dai da dai da dai da dai da dum
Sweet dappled flowers nod to their reflections in the stream (by Alisha Ruiss)
As fragile mossy arch bends a fraction beneath the weight
Of the tree frog and the toad eyeing the crosswalk and the road
And the curious man alone sitting cross legged on a log
Dai da dai da dai da dai da dai da dai da dum
