"And the birds twitter like whispering violins."
Quote by _Constance
The morn' rain is dripping in the greenwoods,
and hidden birds chatter in the tall trees;
birds on branches are beeping in the woods,
and the trees hum with the cool autumn breeze.
Wildflowers mumble beside my footpath,
water not far babbles along its way;
from that cool stream frogs croak pausing their bath,
the woods is singing an overture gay.
I hear the whisper of a passing swan.
the quacking from a family of ducks;
and the crunch of a squirrel as it ran,
in the distance is the rumble of trucks.
And now as the sun is yawning goodbye;
the birds fly and swirl chirping in the sky.
Our beautiful green trees
Covered huge swathes of land
Ancient mighty oaks were felled
Oblivious to the future
We broke the woodland's heart.
The greenwoods are compromised
Tree's realise their in trouble
Dangerous time's looming
Our forest friends are weary
Sap runs cold and leaves tremble.
Our hearts are also broken
Now we reap cost of indifference
Hundreds of years wiped out
Sawmill's disdain for the ongoing
Appalling devastation.
Wisdom from Trees
Poetry Contest
Sponsored
by:
Anoucheka Gangabissoon
18/05/2022
In an Elysian wood,
flitting faeries
among the trees
ponder their
magical seeding,
for a fairy ring
they’ll build,
within the greenwoods
emerald sea.
Moss-laden ferns
feathery light,
help feed faerie magic
late at night growing fungi,
puffballs round,
a faerie ring,
inedible magic.
2-15-2022
A STRAND (1074) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
He silhouettes the misty skyline,
Down lush valleys, through glades below.
Skirting greenwoods by still waters,
Until the earths last fading glow
Laying down so tired and weary,
Awakened by the cockrel's crow.
Bread and water, beggars breakfast,
Morning sunlight, urging him to go.
Past the farmyard, dogs a barking,
Hurry, scurry, quick quick slow.
Heading towards new horizons,
In endless journeys, to and fro.
Weather warning signs approaching,
Fallow fields turn white with snow.
Frozen feet tramp lonesome highways,
Seeking shelter, leaves his spirits low.
4/ 29/ 2017.
Written 1951 eleven years old.
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