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.

Lalarukh Lasharie

The Lines