Subtle the morning sun
Through falling autumn leaves,
Soft the winds gentle sorrow:
Tender touch on goose bumped skin,
Quiet the hush of tree enfolded glade,
Serene the pool in which I sank and bathed.
Yet the Forest held its breath, as I held mine,
The image of that anger in her eyes,
Calm before the storm.
In the distance thunder rumbled,
And dark clouds gathered.
© Greg Richards