Forest
Bend low and ring the bluebells.
Bend low and ring the bluebells.
Stand still in the raw soil in silent woods
Beneath perennial shadows.
Trees sing in a whispered tone unheard
By passers-by, their chorus amber and green
Listen for ghostly movements stirring nature’s soul.
Forever in their branches they sleep,
Cobwebs’ feathers flicker in the morning light
Before opened petals gently bend to lick the dew
Off velvet leaves.
⏩ Frankie Quinn is a former republican prisoner who is now a community activist. He is the author of Open Gates, a book of poetry.
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