Melancholy Faun
Wooden paths I seek forlorn,
I miss the smell where I was born.
The coolest air of blossoms bloom
no longer wait for me to loom.
No canopy to be my roof ~
now ashes scattered under hoof.
I had to leave I couldn't stay,
they took upon themselves that day:
destroying what I miss the most ~
My home,
now just a charcoal ghost.
Copyright © Tammy Armstrong | Year Posted 2011
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