Under the Greenwood Tree

I sit under the Greenwood Tree

The Barn Owl plays the symphony.

The thought of you possess my mind

It aches in places, undefined.

The sands of time slip quick they say

Each grain for me is yesterday.

Rummaging through the days bygone

I hold on to the fondest one.

I sit thus till the evening dies

And with it fades my blush and smile.

The Raven croaks and winds the day

My sequestered soul but longs to stay.

© Wordpolitics

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21 thoughts on “Under the Greenwood Tree

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