the woods

olive green and rust brown mix

light streams through the leaves and catches motes betwixt

lines of sun, and displays them against the bark

rough and diamond-shaped of the forest, and the song of a lark

 

is quiet and warbling, like the sound of the creek

and beyond the close-clustered trees is a mountain's peak

the breeze of spring morning rests on the leaves

and dances in the grove of the sycamore trees.

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741