A high rigid forest,

crowned thick with boughs

of brilliant green,

lay broad their hands to heaven

like wheat fields where breezes melt

from blue skies.


A small path below, its surface smooth,

relinquishes its space to those who pass;

their voices and names remain bound in the safety

of mossy blankets.


Long shadows signal day’s end.

Seasons are marked by growth and death,

but the path remains constant.


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