As I Grow

Sometimes whilst listening intenly to
the summer breeze
A wise old voice chants these words,
"Come find me, come find me youthful friend."
I turn about startled, yet the night reveals no foe.
The distant man calls from some far mountaintop
inticing and luring my fantasy.
I query within myself, "who speaks thus?"
Knowing the answer I quaintly smile,
turning back to face the traveled miles,
delicately whispering into the breeze,
"Come find me, come find me youthful friend."