By wordley
Date: 2020 Apr 04
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Within this woodland glade I hide my face from men, so they will not see,
The envy that pervades its countenance, envy of the sky that daily taunts
That it may gaze upon you, as every cloud and breeze, as you pass, every tree,
Whilst here in my heart you have become a spirit, a ghost that haunts;
I admire the forest, its unity and form, each sharing space, but yet entwined,
Such symbiosis that gives meaning to their shared existence, their close spacing,
Oh that I could be so close to you, about whom the very air is so refined
The actual volume of time and space, so precious this form is tracing;
If I were a tree, then you would be the ivy clad about my form, but not parasitic,
Merely there for support and exchange of emotional sap, our union sharing
Letting my boughs drape you in love, you, who has become my harshest critic,
But only because you wish the highest level of joy for me, your soul so caring;
Dreams, so precious and perhaps obtainable, who knows the years that flow
The intentions so pure, the emotions so intense, but time is so mean,
So in this woodland glade, for now, I will hide my face, watch the forest grow
And here my envy, and its accompanying hue, will not be the only shade of green...