The forest floor was soft and soundless,
and the shafts of filtered light that found me,
held no warmth only mellow illumination.
The pine needles an aromatic carpet,
as I traipsed my dreamy path to your door.
How I wish I could live as you live;
feel the joy of not knowing what I know,
not needing what I need.
Nell, the forest is your guardian and your palace;
your insulation against a foreign world.
Let me enter that I may escape too.
(c) 1999-2000 Brendan
Hunt |
