Cosy, musty, Home to many. A place to rest in dusty, webbed crevices; between bags of spuds and rusty trugs; like ‘bugs in rugs’ under patchwork eiderdown ‘Daily News’.
Enchanted wood groans and moans, Whispers & weeps. Tormented, alone, lost Her voice echoing ‘lost, lost’ Crushing, trampling Damp resinous forest carpet, Dizzy, blinded by the diffusion Straining her thin neck Gnarled, twisted , contorted Regal branches of ancient cedar A dryad allures her to climb the boughs And knots. She remembers past lives: pharaohs, princes, fairy tale castles, Bloody battles, beautiful icecap mountains and sailing in an electric storm. She reaches the warm, tree house on top of the canopy Where there is nothing but peace.
Snowdrops are like angels’ tears of joy
Appearing when our hearts are forlorn
Brooding over dense, gloomy skies.
Abundantly they sway their demure heads in
Sweet, gentle spring breezes,
Chattering together on the banks of village lanes.
Spring brings hope and happiness to all of us.