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Forest ©

Graham Donachie
Victoria, Canada
2004

Deep and green this silent place
of moss and crawling things
of rustlings in the undergrowth
of gurgling icy springs
the smells of earthly dampness strong
and cedar stinging sweet
decay and death enriching such,
the path beneath my feet.

This eventide finds me alone
far from my heart's desire
a-lost in this dark forest place
a-flounder in this mire
the thoughts of toads and bogles’ eyes
and whispers of lost dead
the hoot of judgment from the owl
ignores my pleas un-pled.

The milky tendrils of the mist
enwrap my cold damp self
and shiver I, with horror blind
in this, realm of the elf,
for now the hour grows later still
and I so far from home
a-stumbling in this mossy maze
this sucking knee deep loam.

I cannot see the way ahead
the shades of night draw close
and oozing up around my thighs
dank stench of bog o’er flows
a-laughter mocking in its glee
from jack-o-lantern there
my whimper lost in helplessness,
the foolish in the snare.

Now all around me...twinkling lights
and naked fairy folk
who dance on branches high above
this screaming mortal joke
and kelpies now, tug on my arms
and pull me ever down
my struggles
now are
useless.



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