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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