Poem: 5-4-2014

A golden shovel poem:
Faces in the Forest
After Ezra Pound

I walk the path, down to the
forest floor, an apparition
appears to move slowly of
towards the deep valley. These
trees around me look as if faces
brood and stare down at me, in
deep contemplation, and move the
branches as if sighing, in a crowd
of silent sentinels. Their petals
strewn on the forest floor, like pearls on
green velvet. The moon-beam, a
stream of radiance, on leaves, wet
which gleam with an inner black
shimmer and glow on the bough.

 ©2014 April

Lalarukh Lasharie


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