Forest Poem by Christian Thomas Scott

Moth bent flutters of a breath,
Yet silent as a whisper, on the wind,
And in the trees. Yet growing ever quietly.
Voices in the heights and in the mind,
No matter origin, are quiet as the
Fall of autumn leaves, in the trees.
Melancholy light, trickles down to gild the green,
And roughly do the branches climb,
Swaying softly in the breeze.
Scarlet light and break and setting,
As the sun is moved or stayed
Reverberates upon the clouds,
Of moonlit sky or fiery day.
No such silence elsewhere found,
With warmth so rampant in my heart,
A waterfall of love abounds,
Cascading from the highest part.