Woodland society.
By Andrew Hide
A group of trees, a wooded land, all that we see, do we understand? The ivy climbs the oak, stangling its sole provider, the bramble, like a falling cloak, forever growing wider. The popular reaches up for heaven, still looking for more light, the silver birch, with ghostly glow, ready to fight the night. The holly creates a shelter, but to prickly for us to live. High in the apple, mistletoe, with berries, poisonous, white, sucking from its hosts boughs, lifes blood, a parasite. Written April 18th, 2002 © on Apr 18 2002 07:02 AM PST, Andrew Hide 0 • 9
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"A group of trees, a wooded land,..."