Monday, September 5, 2011

My Special Place by Eliza Douglas

My Special Place
by Eliza Douglas
Crunch, crunch,
Leaves,
Dead of color,
Under boot-laden feet,
As I walk,
On my way to,
My secret wooded place.

Sticks break,
Crack,
a thorn in jeans,
As I breathe in the,
Cool,
Crisp,
air of,
My secret wooded place.

Rustling,
Squirrels,
chasing,
Caught in a game of,
Woodland tag,
On their way to
My secret wooded place.

Dear and,
Wolf
a flash,
of predator,
and prey,
the hunter,
and the,
hunted,
leaving only, footprints,
as proof that they were here,
a deadly game I glimpsed,
on my way to
My secret wooded place.

Reaching
Vine-swings,
Stopping,
a pitstop,
but only for,
a moment's time,
For I must hurry on,
On my way to ,
My secret wooded place.

I slow,
Coming to a
Stop;
As I reach,
A tree canopy,
Over bare dirt,
Log benches,
Rocks,
Padding,
Of sniffing rabbits,
Looking for greens,
In my,
Secret wooded place,


I
Have
Arrived.

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