In These Woods

What words can I shape, to tell that in these woods

I am made strong?

That hope runs deep here,

through the veins of oak

and pine, and maple trees,

through the earth

lives the permanence 

the assurance of oneness 

where there are no shadows

to be afraid of,

how can I ever express Lord God

that I am never alone,

covered in the warmth

of the blue sky.

      

Poetry, and Image © Copyright 2020, ancient skies