Of Moss And Pride

I the child of green
fit fine to forest floors
the bed of moss under Mother of pearl crush leaf to folded arm
we stretch together every vine tip to tree
the mushroom morel and may-apple dram
that Ash and Oak press on
the weight of them  
staggers this lay of land
I watch the holler meander down protected valleys, kissed by honeysuckle and silver bedded streams 
we eat of raspberry, blackberry and elder licking sweet nectar whilst thinking jam
tap slowly the maple tree and let firm the sap 
sugar-cubes to hand awaiting Winters ride.
 
 
The Oak grove ornate, where Black and Chestnut loom, our  
strength shines in hues green to gold
the vein of protection and respect entwine with the soul,  
low... art we and the old One 
The Faerie and Dryad know their sacred circles 
magics that adorn, wistful, breathing life to a sun-lit glow
these windows never forget,once brought through the ever present glass,  
this veil of ominous tied with absolution
as the devil beat his wife, I would find myself time and time again  
beneath stalwarts. 
 
 
Evening mist rolls, the hug to hillside lay dense as we sigh  
for completeness, arcane wisdoms of Weeping Willow,  
lost creek roads, bent with the way of the world.
Safety resides in her gentle arms,  
this a guarantee  
as the wash of her voice soothes the inner beast.
We are prostrate, humbled and broken before her
as a branch sings reassurance like none other  
the forest glide of elegance 
 
Dip in the sphere of a forest grove
losing ones self and finding again 
refresh
we the weeds of forest bane 
have stoked the fires of shame
yet champions...
 
The debt remains for respect