The Woods Entry Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon
The Woods Entry
So old is the wood, so old,
Old as Fear.
Wrinkled roots; great stems; hushed leaves;
No sound near.
Shadows retreat into shadow,
Deepening, crossed.
Burning light singles a low leaf, a bough,
Far within, lost.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: old,leaves
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8/15/2026 3:15:41 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
