ear to Endymion

some part of us still listens

Oh, to remember such unspoiled kinship with the divine, where even the wind was a companion and silence spoke in full sentences. Perhaps this poem isn’t just a backward glance but a gentle invitation— to return, not in time, but in spirit, to that meadow of soulfulness where love was once our native tongue. Some part of us still listens to the rustling leaves, hoping the gods haven’t stopped calling.