There is something about
A half-open gate
That begs exploration
Down the wide grassy lane
With trees shading the way
Cooling the path and hiding
The mysteries beyond
In light dappled shadows
Tread softly and listen
For who or what created this place
Richly carpeted with life
Deep enough to silence your footsteps
The quiet power of photosynthesis
Unchanged in eons
And uninterrupted, beyond this gate
By the works of man