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THE WOODS
The woods are ever a haven.
Out there beyond the field,
To walk in them is to be safe,
The woods' hold sweet nature's appeal.
To sit in the woods is to be silent,
To list' to the small creature sounds;
To inhale the aromas of life,
That moves in its circles around.
Not for me the lights and the horns,
Not for me the the neon of the streets,
Though I see the charms of the cities,
'Tis only the woods that are sweet.
I have walked on the streets of the city,
In the twilight right after a storm,
And admired the light's wet reflections,
And danced to the sounds that are born,
In the air packed with people and movement,
Echoing off concrete and steel.
I felt the vibrant excitement,
That makes all your senses reel.
But Oh!, the sounds of rain dripping,
from every tiny-leafed fern,
And oh the smell of moist earth,
That causes your senses to burn,
The woods sing the cycles of life,
They sing of death and new birth,
There's no need for egos that shatter,
For the woods tell your soul it's true worth.
I suppose that we all choose our havens,
And I wouldn't say any were wrong,
But I worry about those who declare favorites,
Before they have heard all of life's songs.
© 12/01/02 (arti31944@aol.com)
© The watercolor is "The Barn", and was painted by:
Angelia (arti31944@aol.com)
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