THE WOODLAND MARVEL
In the thick, green and shadowy forest,
Where the wild speaks linguistic marvel,
Is where you will find him, staring at the swaying
Tall trees, drying his eyes with their soothing rhythms.
He has longed for a long silence to seethe venomously,
But no one has ever cared or stopped to listen,
Everyone wants to breathe own decorated venom,
So, he leaves the clattering town for a rumbling forest,
The two are noisy and alive but one a little more cordial,
The noise, he screens for raucous value and silent words,
But the forest is also venomous, yet it listens.
It whistles, sways, chirps, howls but listens.
The forest talks incessantly, and the town competes,
The town is proud, fronting superiority, venom.
The forest is also venomous, wild and perilous,
But there he is, listening to the woodland stillness.
Speaking silently, to the squirrels jumping by,
The birds rocking on the leafy branches…
He silently expresses his venom, touching his face.
The back of his hand is moist,
His face is wet, but he listens as the forest sways.
But he remains still, the bird chirping but silent,
Surprised, the sparrow stares:
‘He’s deadly still, but his face is watery,’
marvels the old sparrow.
‘The town talks and talks…
The forest talks but listens,’ to the sparrow he nods.
And there, is the woodland marvel.