Keith O.J. Hunt Poet Free verse

Voice In the Wood

Creaks and crawls....

   the forest speaks its tongue again....

   my wood is sometimes dark and dull,

   Drear, is some shadows near....


There is myst in the night,

   my wood is sometimes ----

   windy-myst voices,

   sometimes,

   it is hushed, 

   and the angels seize not to chatter,

   or it lends itself passing as a ghost

   skulking about the trees ----

   my wood is sometimes


But I shall remember the quiet wood,

   and the angels about their tables,

   and the windy-myst voices,

   and the Voice Who speaks of angels,

   my wood is sometimes....

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