Lost in cushions of acres of grass
I find my voice in streams that ripple
And winds that rush
Through forests of teak
And soar with cranes to realms of blue,
Dappled with petals of peace.
Shorn of the clamours of routine and tasks,
Tuned into crickets as fireflies dance,
I soak in with leaves my unhurried sun
And bask in the silence that sheds
This, my week-long isle from stress.