Secret Wood Poem by chris dawson

Down in a wood
A very small wood
At the bottom of a hill
Where three fields meet
In a black and white time
There lived…
Well, there lived
And they lived happily
And in peace
Harmony
With all the woodland characters we know of
And quite a few others we don’t.

On nights of moonlight silk
With deep black shadows
Criss-crossing white tinged bows
When there was not a breath
And all above the warmed blue sky
Kept that place and moment secure
Music could be heard
If you listened
Really listened
A flute?
No one would tell
But the animals who lived there knew it
And would gather.

Seduced by the sound
And expected sight
They would be closer
Braver
Than on any other night of the year
Their very souls lifted
Instincts subdued
A melancholy blanket lay over the wood
Under which they all snuggled.

And then
In a clearing
A very small clearing
Where the grass was so short
So soft
So fresh and clean
It’s green so vivid
That it only took a bathing of soft light
To draw its richness
A tiny glow would appear
Then another.

And another
Until a dainty ring of lacy glows had formed
And they would dance
They knew no one watched
But all could see
They were safe
And would only do so when they were
Where they came from
Not one creature knew
None were ever seen
Outside their little theatre.

As you know this was a special place
A place of sight and sounds
Of such beguiling magic
Enchanting wonder
That would enthral the simple and wise alike
That time has passed
But only for me
For you that wood is still there
If it can be found.