The Forest Poem by Daniel P Martin

The first act begins, as the sun bursts through the canopy,
Each beam like a distant star; set in an emerald sky,
If this scene is gazed upon from a certain angle,
A haziness emerges, projecting eerie spectres to the eye.
The light bounces around the stage, with infinite energy,
Illuminating all it touches; the river, the leaves and hearts,
Creating a palette of colours in such sharp definition,
That Sony would spend their last Million to buy the parts.
The persistent river provides the soundtrack to the scene,
Smoothing pebbles, it plots its familiar course between trees,
Carrying with it the debris that enters the waters from above,
Twigs like fallen soldiers, carried along with their camouflage leaves.
Branches like random flashes of lightening, frame this charming stage,
The silhouetted outlines of the leafless trees huddle in a pack
Like some gregarious herd of beasts, roaming the forest,
The strong guide the excitable young; the old and withered fall back

Innumerable Acorns and Conkers lay scattered around,
Each aware of the slim prospect of realising it’s true potential,
More likely to be gathered up for a small child’s collection,
So vast is nature’s procreation, that each lost seed is inconsequential.
The setting springs into a new and invigorating scene,
As the children arrive; with wellies-a-splashing through the river,
Stones cast out across the water, disturbing the earlier calm
The game continues until wellies are full, and toes start to shiver
Eventually, the children depart, talking emphatically about the play,
The dog walkers dry their dogs and the lovers kick mud from their boots,
Calm is restored; the canopy’s imitation of night transforms into the real thing,
Under the soft and subtle moonlit glow, the mice scurry, and the owls hoot.