Through the dark aisles of the wood
Where the pine-needles deaden all sound
And the dove flutters in the black boughs
Through twilit vaults of the forest
Where fungus stifles the roots
And the squirrel escapes with a cone
Through the dim alleys of pine
Where the bent stick moves like a snake
And the badger sniffs at the moon
Through the green graveyard of leaves
Where the stoat rehearses his kill
And the white skull grins in the fern.
Poem - Iii
Henry Treece
(1)
Poem topics: dark, green, moon, snake, white, dove, black, skull, squirrel, sound, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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