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.