A Moment in the Woods

The passers-by,
They do not know
Why I sit in this June glade
Amid a parade of dancing butterflies
Adoring little wild flowers
and the music of cuckoos;

The walkers in these woods,
They do not know who I really am
Though trees on both sides salute me
And a falcon overhead proclaims
The dignity of its lord: a woodland emperor
contemplating his June space