Beneath The Trees Poem by cheryl davis miller

A winding pathway calling come,
beneath the trees.
Looks much less welcoming for some
you cannot please.
My fortress tall, it does enclose.
That I may rest in sweet repose.
The dancing sun peeks through the leaves,
beneath the trees.
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The care's of life I'm set free from
such sweet reprieves.
The songbirds sing, and bees they humm,
on gentle breeze.
I come upon a pink wild rose.
Lift its soft petals to my nose.
My place of refuge and of ease,
beneath the trees.

c.d.m.2011