A forest is a poem

 
 
 
A forest is a poem
in a language of immediacy, of action.
Symbiotic rhythms swell into echoing song.
Bathed in catalytic light, dense layers
nurture over long decay. Fragrant vibrations
call rousing tune for bestial play and parry.
Seeds join outburst glee, new forms
for old, merry meet of sound and fury.
Forest
the word itself carries mystery, tales
of magic and expiation,
of feisty maidens defying giants and
handsome knights sworn to fealty.
Mischievous sprites, winsome serpents and crows
whisper oracular spells to trap or free.
A mere display of words manifests no sap,
no flagrant moss, no perennial berries
enticing birds
to build for a future family.
Yet a forest is most certainly
a poem.
.
.
.

 

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