Child of innocence

She sleeps in the woods,
Curled up snug
In a tight little ball.

The trees surround her.
The canopy high and dense
And dark.
Like a thick blanket
Woven with loving care,
Each strand gently turned and tucked
Over the other,
By the hands of her mother.
She is safe from;
The wind, the hot and the cold,
The rain and the snow,
The sun and the moon,
Where under this blanket
She softly sighs.
Dreaming.

Though the trees prosper,
There is little else but trunks and leaves,
And that thick canopy.
In the spring time, life`s just the same,
The green and the brown is
All that is seen,
No cries of new-birth can be heard
Over the din-
That awful silence.

 

And even if
There were a whole
Parade of colourful flowers
To be seen,
Or a world of creatures
And life to be heard,
Still she would not open her eyes-
Safe as she is,
Bundled up so tight.

And in this forest,
This magical forest,
Every root can be seen.
No need to go deeper
When all that they need
Is right on the surface,
Plainly seen.
On the edge of the wood
A tree slowly dies.

She sleeps in the woods,
Curled up snug
In a tight little ball.
But if you come closer,
Or place your hand upon her skin,
There you’ll find
How her skin folds
Over itself and sinks
Into her flesh,
All worn and thin.

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