Esoteric Online

The garden is my mailbox
Instead of written word
I get these colored postcards
And delight at how absurd
These notes left near my doorstep 
Are only leaves you see
But meaning reveals a message kept
In the hollow of a tree.
Sometimes I have to search for them
As they are scattered all around
I'm sure there might be some 
That are never to be found
It's only when I make sense of them
Myself will leap and bound
Till then, I remain a simpleton
Who is anchored to the ground
There are times I hear a calling
From the tribe that lives at sea
Sometimes I feel a yearning
Coming deep inside of me
There are words the wind has brought
From strange and distant lands
Carried with loving time and grace
Into these weathered hands
If there be tones of color 
Too subtle for my ear
Let then another organ decipher
Only what the heart will hear

-a friend along the path-

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