THE GREENWOOD

Below a sky so bright and blue,
in a sea of dancing green,
twisting and turning
in a sweet summer dream.

The roar of whooshing waves
through leaves of glistening verde,
a sound so sweet; relaxing,
never forgotten, once heard.

The creak of bending branch
stretching out with old complaint,
the sigh of silent voices
so soft and now so faint.

Nature’s ancient guardians
so lofty and aloof,
stand watch, offer protection,
bending boughs, a living roof.

Splintering hands
reach tall for the sky,
the cool damp earth
feeding leaves upon high.

Arms of teeming life,
cold roots connect the blood,
surviving time's long arrow,
misused and misunderstood.

Long may silent sentinels live
to watch where once we stood,
atop majestic mountain's,
down below in distant woods.



*

Written by Darren Scanlon August 2009.
Revised 5th February 2016.
©2016 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

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