the forest dead
I could not at first discern it’s final repose, skeletal and stark,
so very out of place, fallen at the roots of it’s brothers in bark,
as if there in disgrace.
I can somehow hear the echoes of anguished splintered sound,
damped by fern and moss, from when it toppled to the ground,
a sky patch marked loss.
Though no longer do it’s blanket branches shield the forest floor,
with leaf pattern shades, it abides by the Green Man’s ancient lore
as to soil it slowly fades.