I passed a log
With my dog
On a December day.
Once it stood
In this ancient wood.
Now I
Pass by
As December grows colder,
And I ever older.
I passed a log
With my dog
On a December day.
Once it stood
In this ancient wood.
Now I
Pass by
As December grows colder,
And I ever older.
My sincere thanks to Lucy for hosting me on her excellent website. For my guest post, in which I discuss how Spa Wood (and nature more generally) influences my writing, please visit here, https://wp.me/pawefW-1T5.
In this wood,
In parts overgrown
I walked alone,
Yet I had a myriad tree
For company.
Then the rain came
And I was free,
For I am part
Of the wood’s heart
Which lives in me.
Incongruous you stood,
A sofa in my local wood.
You belong in a living room
But as some poisonous mushroom
You despoil the grace
Of nature’s face.
No point to shout
About a litter lout,
For if you did hear
I fear
That you would not listen.
The glisten
of morning dew
Means nothing to you,
Who would rather view TV,
Than stare at bird or tree.
Doubtless you own a state-of-the-art television
(And a new settee).
Yet you lack the vision
To see
Beyond the dancing screen
To yonder wood,
Where the air is good
And fox and squirrel are oft times seen.