The Woods
- Kayem
- Sep 20, 2020
- 1 min read
A delicate breeze caressed the woods
Of crimson, orange, and gold.
Whilst merry birds darted between the trees,
Nearly bare of leaves to hold.
The sun beamed down from the azure sky,
Shaping the clouds with tender rays,
Illuminating the waking forest
With a kind, compassionate gaze.
Ancient oaks reach up to the skies,
Their branches tangled and crinkled.
Whilst silver birches display their bare hands,
The sycamore stays wrinkled.
Where these woods have disappeared,
Stands a proud new place.
The sun only flashes angrily now.
The wind will not embrace.
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