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