The Forest At Midnight
The moonlit trees
Sway drunkenly against
The kaleidoscopic backdrop.
Their lunar shadows
Stagger merrily
Over the forest floor,
Gaze longingly
At mice and hares and move on.
Soon their tipsiness and incapability
To stay upright will come to
A gruelling hungover end
As the golden chariot of
Apollo returns for another day
To light the way home
For lost leafy souls and
Drunken arboreal oaks.
And Diana’s wit and beauty
Will once again be outshone by
The mothering nutritious glow of the sun.
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