This forest is so young
My hands can reach around almost each tree,
My arms can tightly embrace even the oldest.
Yet such quiet pervades the forest
That I forget time.
Quiet is itself older than trees and forest,
Yet chooses to live here,
Comforted by the slow growth of maple and pine,
Hiding in the rustle of wind-shaken branches.
Nice! Can I use this poem please at the end of my article about time for the March issue of the Ashfield news
Sent from my iPhone
Sorry for late response. It was posted in “Social” listing which I check only on occasion. I’m so glad you liked the poem. I’ll make sure comments on poetry blog go to prime email from now on.