The Song Of The Forest Poem by Kate Wiley

The National Forest called the Big Thicket in East and Southeast Texas-I found this dreamy atmosphere there.

The tall trees in the forest now are hushed
And listen to a song, long past, that rushed
Amongst them-music far away but near,
A solemn music they alone can hear-
A ghostly haunting sound, and their old boughs
Move to the tune, with quiet sighing soughs.
The forest floor is old and deep and secret.
Shade from distant years still lingers yet,
Laid softly o'er its roots and undisturbed,
Concealing whispers there long unperturbed
For centuries, which those who long ago
Were hearing, seemed to also love and know.
Faint whispers of the voices and footsteps
Of early times which through the trees have crept
And treading on dry grass, and filt'ring through
Dry leaves collected 'round their mossy moots.
To an unseen musician's quaverings
While playing ancient songs on ancient strings,
Long shadows dance in wisps of melodies
And call me deeper into dark Pine trees,
And far into their agéd, now quaint tone,
Belonging wholly to an era gone.
Forgotten, all except the forest song.