Not a word to be heard,
From the oak or the beech.
The ash and the holly,
Have lost their speech.
The birch is so quiet,
Does it fear the cane?
The gorse may be hoarse,
But it won’t complain.
In the undergrowth beside me,
Not even a rustle…
The ivy creeps quietly,
Barely moving a muscle.
Then some bushes nearby,
Start sharing a whisper.
The grass hushes and I,
Return to non-listener.
Hedge Peace
May 3, 2010
Comments Off | 
Uncategorized | 
Permalink
Posted by Bog Rhymer
