The Poetess...the oak...the descent Pt 3
Deeper…darker,
the pull ever stronger
Girdling her arms…
tendrils of mist,
Toward a huge, hulking Oak,
seen dimly afar
Tugging her toward it,
unseen hands on her wrist
It stood alone in a clearing,
lit by gibbous moon
Long wide gash in it’s flank,
from long ago lightning
The poet could feel coldness,
and knew all too soon
That what was to come,
would become much more frightening
The far distant cry
of her name in the night
Was riven to pieces
and blown away in the breeze
Her heart hammered hopelessly,
face frozen in fright
As our young lady poet, …
Entered… “the land neath the trees”
poem by David Whalen
Added by Poetry Lover
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