[I am sure I love you-
I really am,]
The sunlight passed through the broad leaves,
Displaying an emerald refraction of
Strength, life, age; a slow, old growth that sounds
Like a steady, low music all through these
Wrinkled trees, and I can smell it,
Like coffee or a bruised onion;
the curling tree-spirits play on all my senses.
How could a place like this
ever need a king?
I could lace my legs in green,
And hide among the creepers in the trees
With watchful eyes and sharp ash glances.
I could rub the loam in my palms
And chase the deer, breathing like a fiend,
Blade in hand, through this
When the lion returns, will he take this
[My shade of green]
© 2012 Paige Street