Something About A Forest
There’s just something about a forest
That makes the turbulent soul fall still
And listen to the mournful dirge
Of the solemn whipporwhill.
That makes the turbulent soul fall still
And listen to the mournful dirge
Of the solemn whipporwhill.
There’s just something about a forest
That makes closed eyes want to look
At the rippling, tippling kaleidescope
Of the steady-flowing brook.
That makes closed eyes want to look
At the rippling, tippling kaleidescope
Of the steady-flowing brook.
There’s just something about a forest
Than makes the angry gazes see
The regal and majestic might
Ot the ancient maple tree.
Than makes the angry gazes see
The regal and majestic might
Ot the ancient maple tree.
There’s just something about a forest
That makes the most stubborn will learn
To praise the bashful beauty
Of the pale green, newborn fern.
That makes the most stubborn will learn
To praise the bashful beauty
Of the pale green, newborn fern.
There’s just something about a forest
That awakens weary souls
With the fresh rejuvenation
That only a forest holds.
That awakens weary souls
With the fresh rejuvenation
That only a forest holds.
Sophia White
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