There in a tiny field of wild flowers he stood in breathless awe, His light green eyes taking in the beauty

and joy of what he saw, As a hundred butterflies danced around his outstretched arms, And he sensed their rapture as if he himself had Natures charms. He laughed as they tickled his face and hands with delicate wings, Smiled as they bounced to the push and pull a gentle wind brings, And all their colours are glorious and vivid in his world so grim, For people have always called him freak and misunderstood him. They are as soft and fine as the faint pulse he sends toward them, Its a call only they can hear dancing around flower head and stem, He tunes it to just the pitch for them to feel not knowing how, A gift that nobody has cared to see or share with him up to now. A rabbit clamly grazing on faded dandelion leaves is close by, It twitches its ears and watches impassively with a warey eye, The scent of wild honeysuckle drifts from the hedgerows tall, And follows to where cats lay sleeping on a warm brick wall. As a child he was found in woods when he was four years old, They said hed been raised wild or thats how the story was told, And they couldnt find the parents or any records of his birth, Now at the age of eight he was still all alone on this Earth. He could speak the language they taught him and learned fast, Could read and write of a fashion but his patience wouldnt last, He longed to be out in the open and away from how they felt, They were alien to his senses no pulse their hearts could melt. The field was at the back of his orphange and he would often go, Practising the energy patterns that made the insects ebb and flow, He could sense what they felt akin to that of babies and mothers, And hed make connections with them more real than with others. When you are different and you know it inside its easy to hide, Nobody ever asked him for explanations or knew when he lied, They tried to make him fit into the pattern of everyone elses life, But hes unique and they dont like different if it means more strife. The boy is pale and scrawny but does not want for food just love, He sits in sunshine or rain and looks to the clouds or stars above, Makes ladybirds swarm to the trees or has the ants build mound, Asks the rooks to fly in circles or calls to the moles underground. This day when the berries on the brambles were heavy and black, The sun was warm and inviting and felt good as he lay on his back, Dreaming aimlessly of what he yearned for a family and friends, Of people who understood him and wondering how for him it ends.

When above the chatter of the hedge sparrows came a buzz strong, As two bees danced excitedly about him and rested curiously long, So the boy tried the pitch that would link him to share their thought, And the tiniest sense of home and a journeys end was caught. He intensified the pulse and the swarm came dancing to his side, Their rapture was like the thrill you get on a rollercoaster ride, They swirled and dived sounding like a hundred drums in his ears, Making his heart pound with joy and bringing on his joyful tears. They push him careful not to sting or scare but urgent in their plee, Their Queen calling for him to follow though he could not see, Caught in a swirling mass that brought him finally to their hives, Promising him friendship and love and sharing with their lives. When he entered the garden the bees settled and left him to sit, It was a blaze of flowers and lawns and he felt he instantly fit, For the hills and woods backed onto both sides with no fence, And he could feel the ley lines beneath him tingle to his sense. Natures own pulse is strong when cared for and nurtured so, Here the fruit on burdened trees weighs the branches ever low, And the many roses along their arches likewise feel gravitys pull, While the berries on the varied shrubs keep the birds bellies full. The old beekeeper and his wife had seen their swarm come and go, Marvelling at his arrival and how he was unhurt they did not know, But they put it down to the gift of charming the bees as tales do say, Some are said to possess the power and here they have proof today. How readily they accept what others can never comprehend at all, With open arms and open minds they sense fate has come to call, When opportunity knocks they have always been sure to pay heed, For their hearts are honest and simple is their pleasure and need. And so it was that he started to tend to the honeycombs and more, Running here and not the field helping them with heaviest chore, Mowing grass and chopping wood and sharing in their loving ways, Finding a home and a place to belong to bring him loving days. His loneliness fades and his gift by equal measures confidently grow, He coaxes the fox from his den and gathers moths by moonlight glow, Happiness radiates from him and the world of which he feels now part, Is way beyond his understanding but he feels acceptance in his heart. Golden leaves fall from the oak that shelters him as if protectively, And as they do two squirrels collecting acorns climb ontop his knee, Beside him the old couple hold hands and watch when he smiles, For a thousand fireflies light the night just for him in endless miles.