THE FOREST’S MASTER

Posted by: ann on: 1 February 2006

In: poetry
8 Comments

Erect, upright, tall, proud he stands;
a mighty oak, this man, this forest king.
Men fall away, unbid, allow his passage;
lofty, haughty, his uber power supreme.

Fragile, delicate, gentle she sways;
a simple bloom, this girl, this forest nymph.
Buffeted, crushed, pushed this way, that;
yielding, soft, a fragrant flower in awe of him.

Deep, brown pools like his seed, the acorn’s hue,
beckon her gaze. In swirling whirlpools she drowns;
beneath sweet sepal lashes, emerald and amber flash,
dazzling him, her wide-eyed innocence abounds.

With stealth and strength he towers over
this tiny creature, who, with one blow, her stem,
could snap in two beneath his might, but,
his arm, his bough protects her from other men.

With words unspoken, he scoops her up,
his sinewy hands are like twigs entwined
around her petal soft fingers resting against his trunk.
The forest offers soft leaves for a bed, supine

Hungry for the meal of her sweetest nectar,
her scented rosebud lips part, her tongue they sweep,
reaching into the depths of his mouth, she tastes
the flavour of wood, of musk, his masculinity

A mighty oak, this man, solid deep strong roots,
envelops, protects his blossom from pending disaster.
This floral fragrant bloom gives herself willingly
to the safety and shelter of the forest’s master