The Forest’s Master
Posted 11 October 2006on:
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
copyright 2006 ann raven