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Woodwards

In the black forests of my mind,
Where the seeds of experience 
Have become the trees of memory,
Searching those dark woods I find

Too many trees have aged in shame,
Standing grey and gaunt before me,
Muttering from leaf to leaf
Their morbid curses on my name.

My mental woods bow down, despairing,
They weep away my self-belief,
And leave me virtually blind,
While at my senses grief is tearing.

To whom these woods belong I know,
Woods where the harshest nightmares grow,
Where I meander to and fro,
Amidst the symbols of my woe.

Quotation: "Whose woods these are I think I know" from "Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening" - Robert Frost.









Copyright © Beth Evans

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