The Dark Edge

These forests lie in shadow and the scent
Of conifers is resinous. It hangs
In the still air as spruces complement
The darkness; its oppressiveness just bans
The early morning light to the far edge
Of consciousness, as she leans on a gate
That has seen better days: each spider's web
Sits intact on the rotten wood; She'll take
The chance to genuflect; the dandelions
Are spread around her shins; fine streams of light
May flicker through dense leaves; nature's defiance,
Is not something she'll absorb: she'll requite
The shadows in her mind as she divests
Herself of all reserve in these forests...