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.
.
A Poet's Indulgence 
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
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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.