Swaying lightly in the breeze,
hang her tendrils.
Ivy, green, they reach all the
way to the dusty, forest floor.
Her mighty oak branches,
dressed in mosses and ferns
are beautiful, no doubt, but
it’s her verdant hair that enamors me more.
24 Poems ~ 24 Hours
Swaying lightly in the breeze,
hang her tendrils.
Ivy, green, they reach all the
way to the dusty, forest floor.
Her mighty oak branches,
dressed in mosses and ferns
are beautiful, no doubt, but
it’s her verdant hair that enamors me more.
Wow. I feel like I’m right there. If not for my fear of snakes, and my general distaste of the sun, I think I’d be comfortable living out in the woods.
Hahaha! Thanks. If you ever want to face your fears and see our magical ivy oak in person, let me know. 🙂