Benedict is in the Beeches of Harewood

Late summer Beech woods.

In the heart of the canopy, My heart is in the trees, A parasol of forgotten branches, Decorated with a billion leaves, Now darkness laps at Summers fringes, And her thirst cries to be relieved, Alchemy to make gold of emerald ceilings And surrenders them to an autumn breeze, Where they will weave a magic carpet To hide the sleepy hogs and Bumblebees, From naked silhouettes and slender shadows Dancing through the stormy woodland seas, From the hungry darkness hunters From the rain and winters freeze, Until the spring brings back the green And warms my heart again, My heart forever in the trees