Voice In the Wood
Creaks and crawls....
the forest speaks its tongue again....
my wood is sometimes dark and dull,
Drear, is some shadows near....
There is myst in the night,
my wood is sometimes ----
windy-myst voices,
sometimes,
it is hushed,
and the angels seize not to chatter,
or it lends itself passing as a ghost
skulking about the trees ----
my wood is sometimes
But I shall remember the quiet wood,
and the angels about their tables,
and the windy-myst voices,
and the Voice Who speaks of angels,
my wood is sometimes....
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2014
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