Quiet Woods
Quiet Woods
My feet traverse along a path unknown
In deep dark green I find a place so rare
To spend in quiet solitude, alone.
I fancied that I saw a vision there
And moving not a muscle to forewarn
A weasel, in the bushes, held my stare
No sound, save that of blackbird in the thorn
No leaf upon a tree so much as shook
A silence so profound on air is borne
Young rabbit, unsuspecting,by the brook
Too late perceives the hunter’s bounding leap.
Misfortune mine to read from nature’s book
With prey, the weasel melts in forest deep
And lilting blackbird utters not a cheep
‘Beautiful Form’ Terza Rima sponsor Catie Lindsay. 23rd May 2010
Copyright © Margaret Foster | Year Posted 2010
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