the wordlinks poetry project

darkling wood iii

Yes, somewhere still a far-off bird may sing itself a happy song, but ne’er the wood will take its note and own it as its anthem lay. the birdsong does not break the gloom; still the forest lives. Darkling Wood grows ever on, and colder, darker, danker still, and more foreboding is its face from every day and year that’s passed. For generations now the wood has grown, but none can tell. For generations here and gone the wood has slowly grown its part.  *

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