The Writers Voice
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through tangled, brambled forest,
Slipping, tripping, tightly gripping hands.
Somewhere, over dark horizons, awaits a new day,
In line with others. We reach a clearing.
We've been through much, so to rest, to touch,
To sway on the edge of fiery passion,
Keeping all woodland beasties at bay.
They may encircle, snort, pound cloven feet
But they will never cross the fiery boundaries
Of our love.
Bedraggled, we sit on a fallen tree,
Pummeling hearts, race into the future,
Minds in unison close on their heels.
Pre-dawn prepares a subdued welcome,
With birds, high and low, exchanging greetings.
We manage a smile, a warm kiss,
A sweep of hair from faces,
A reflective, wistful, blinkered stare.
And as the sky slightly pales
The forest floor shows it's trodden ways.
We picked our path,
The worst behind us, we walk,
As spears of yellow light burst one by one
Through branches ahead, like a staged production.
We feel the warmth of the trees
And the trees feel our warmth.
We step from the forest
Like children reborn, to a flawless day.
Below us a valley,
With sheep like fallen clouds,
Grazing on spinach green grass.
In the distance, a rainbow
Bridges a meandering, sparkling stream.
Ducks proudly lead stumbling youngsters.
A pair of swans dance
In a courtship ritual.
Forest shadows forgotten,
We step onto the first page
Of the daisy chain chapter.
And should this be the final episode,
Then we are.....................
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