Through the dark aisles of the wood
Where the pine-needles deaden all sound
And the dove flutters in the black boughs
Through twilit vaults of the forest
Where fungus stifles the roots
And the squirrel escapes with a cone
Through the dim alleys of pine
Where the bent stick moves like a snake
And the badger sniffs at the moon
Through the green graveyard of leaves
Where the stoat rehearses his kill
And the white skull grins in the fern.
(Henry Treece)
More Poetry from Henry Treece:
- Poem - I (Henry Treece Poems)
- The Waiting Watchers (Henry Treece Poems)
- The Haunted Garden (Henry Treece Poems)
- Lincolnshire Bomber Station (Henry Treece Poems)
- Lincolnshire (Henry Treece Poems)
- Poem - II (Henry Treece Poems)