Wild Things
February 2024
Beneath a dome of ancient green, Where sunlight filters, soft and thin, A hush descends, a secret kept, The silence where wild things have slept. No human cries, no engines roar, Just whispers carried on the shore, Of wind through leaves, a distant stream, A language only nature can dream. The stag, alert with velvet ears, Stands frozen, banishing its fears. The owl observes with sight unseen, A world of shadows, ever keen. This hush, a canvas vast and deep, Where hidden lives their secrets keep. A symphony in shades of grey, Where silence speaks in its own way. So close your ears to city's drone, And seek this peace where secrets are known. For in the silence, wild things bloom, A hidden world, dispelling gloom.
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