Twin-Split Poem

This is something I’ve been working on since two weeks ago on Friday. We stopped off in the New Forest and, although my feet got soaked through, it was a wonderful place to walk.

Crescent moon hangs still,
Tied to resting night,
As soft blue fades to gold.
Morning’s air is fresh,
With scent of dewed grass,
Crinkling in the nipping cold.
The sodden mounds sponge,
Where wild horses stand,
In forest both new and old.

One daffodil guards,
A tree’s twin-split trunk,
It’s pale yellow head alone.
Bowed by the chilled wind,
Showing reverence,
And shaken, so it’s seeds sown.
The same wind carries,
Said seeds to new trees,
In this way, new guards are grown.


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