A Walk in the Woods
The mist hangs low. No panic though,
no cause for distress, just mustard - and cress
adorns the forest floor, no roar, just the soaring
of woodcock, no shock of the dead, just the red
of poppies on man made redoubts, moss covered,
with Plovers eggs,undiscovered, in its secret places.
No traces here of the primal fear of a generation lost,
oh, what a cost that I may bask in the afterglow
of a warming sun whilst row on row
of bluebells chime and rhyme with nature,
now restored to dappled light in forest deep
and birdsong comforts those who sleep.
Copyright © John Jones | Year Posted 2020
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