A single leaf can be heard
falling in the forest,
as a silent yearning of growth abounds,
and as darkness descends and night apprehends
the last thoughts of the day,
moonlight will dust every leaf and bow,
and the lonely hoot of an owl will echo
in this chamber of the tall.
And all through the night,
as shadows cut the timbers
and move so slowly as moon arcs blue,
the owl will hunt and between the trunks
in agile flight pursue the nocturnal,
earthbound and weary, they forage,
forever looking above,
in the silence.
Stars glimmer through the spaces,
glittering gems atop the forest greenery,
as if to crown the scenery,
in purple haze and diamond wishes,
churning heavens in eternal vistas,
as life in struggle flows,
with hardly a sound to show,
vast and rich in shadow.
Time slides through the night,
one can almost hear the stretching trunks,
these yearning spires of glee,
ready to greet the new day,
to be all they can be, so tall and stoic they,
so old they cannot remember days,
just the turn of light,
the flickering sun and soft blue nights.
So still the slumbered life,
bedded in their earthy wombs,
nested rooms of warmth and safety,
hidden in nooks so stealthy,
to imbibe the quiet relief,
where thoughtless sleep does hold them firm,
to accept and learn what day has taught,
what night in peril discerns.
And the forest is silent,
no grief, no shadows dismayed,
just the stars on parade.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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