Hey there! Here’s a little poem I wrote about the uncanny nature of the familiar woods after dark, when the fire goes out and all that’s left is the sound of water dripping from the trees…
And something else…
But you’re not sure what.
If you have any feedback, please leave it in the comments below.
What whispers lurk behind the trees
Where fireflies dance in a campfire-moonlight?
Refracted smoke crystals in an air
Damp with the scent of clouds;
Raindrops mix with dewdrops
On fungi and the backs of centipedes;
The last light is doused by an incessant tripping
Of the moisture from the sky;
Owls scream with embered eyes glittering
Beyond our sight,
A false hush;
Uncanny is the path that treks
Under the trees.
A Teacup Full of Stories 