The Green

On onset eyes rests the green,
It lingers, ebbing and flowing with the willingness of a sandbank stream.

Through time-traced passages it refuses to grow,
As horizon's glow sines through fire-burnt leaves whispering on the wind and calling us to go.

But where, in transit, does finality finally finish?
Veins etched in auburn sand map a journey destines to diminish.

Yet the green stands tall with a willingness strong,
It whistles, a songbird caught in a moment longing to belong.

And so, it shall.