One whisper starts the rumour mill grinding

dividing the locals into several camps,

that's the confidence killing.


One side of the story is not the whole truth,

whether or not knowing Robin Hood.

The disapointments force to admit the possibility of doubt

with one's own familiar sound.


Forgetting the world outside blindly,

the nature speaks the same language from windy.


Waiting a minute or a few, none the available is a threat.

Some sleep one's luxury in the bed.

No use to ask a favour,

a service is done as same to all neighbours.


However can't deny the miraculous existence,

paying attention to them, some misty are presence.

A pale spirit, or call it what ever one will,

has no logical explanation, just a feeling of tiny chill.


When admiring the handiwork or an early, the first bird of the spring,

the wonder shows how it rings.

In the twilight it sends up a spray,

which sparks on the river as a lay.