Face of the Forest

Wind-swept trees
swaying, begin to moan,
the docile sky
now black and mad,
pouring on the
emerald forest face,
river life rises,
invades the leafed floor.
Bugs flee like
atoms from a light bulb,
upon the deer
whose long laid roads
lead life far
beyond sun tears crushing,
frail moss like
cast iron droplets, woodland
weekly exfoliation.

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