Dryads eggs hatching


Strokes and scribbles
Chisel out ancient tales
Like the lines on a human hand.

Dryads’ families lives
Imprinted on beautiful bark
Wrapped around the groaning oak.

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Dryads’ eggs disguised as nodules, pulsate
And warm,
Sparkling eyes watching from
Dusk till dawn until
Time for rebirth.

Red Remnant of Autumn


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Crumpled withered memory
Frosted crackled tones.

Scented breeze envelops
Her veins.

She falls falls

Sunlight soothes, energises
Stretch twigs, branches
Yawn breathe ‘spring’.

Treacle soft bud
Bursts like a sticky crysalis
Releasing its young.