A Forest Song
Along the old and winding path
Unwatched, unheard, unseen
A bird flew swiftly by
A robin red and soft
It sang a mournful song
That trilled and trailed
A tangled melody
The sun shone darkly
Through storm clad boughs
As spring spun gales rushed by
A heighted sensation
Soon mimicked in the small birds aria
Fell quickly cross the path,
That old and winding path
Where trees huddle closely
And whispers become lost
And life continues quietly
Unwatched, unheard, untouched
Copyright © Alan Thorimbert | Year Posted 2012
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