In the Woods (Poem)

The breeze is shaking branches, pulling roots,

Teasing dumbstruck whispers from my lips.

The sun is leaking through and casting gold

On leaves that cling with slipping grips.

I follow the great trunk that reaches up

Where its top tickles bloated clouds,

Then take shelter–with creatures rustling dirt–

From the eyeless stares of age-old crowds.

Among the fallen leaves, muddied with steps,

The old ones sleep, shaken loose before.

They rest on nature’s cushioned bed,

Imprinting forest floors.

My skin as bark,

I watch them sway.

The quiet trees,

Standing tall

But weakly.


by Harry Husbands


Photo by Bee Husbands!