Wednesday, 25 August 2010

A woman is a forest.
Be careful lest you wander-
Onto the green-tinged path
To her heart.
Her wood worn cave creaks-
In the morning breeze.
The squirrels scurry and play among the branches.
A woodpecker thrums in the distance.
There is a rustling of undergrowth;
A badger lives just beyond the next oak.
I know there is a winding stream-
For the moss smells much damper here-
As the path grows narrow.
Queen Ann’s lace opens up her folds
To the morning sun
And brushes against me:
I walk on hoping to find her-
Yet another tree.

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