The Magic Wood

I walked into a magic wood
where small flies hung
in ritual dancing. Ivy clung
to trees that stood.
I walked into a magic wood.
Strange notes were sung
in a prehistoric tongue,
not understood.

Then quickly down the road I went
to modern times,
great buildings. Our wood-minute climbs
to its descent.
Then quickly down the road I went.
And yet sometimes
those strange notes sing – and what they meant
is in my rhymes.