The Forest and the Field
by Nate M.
What is this feeling that I feel,
In the warmth of a pink morning dawn,
That makes my heart turn and reel,
To a sight of colors reflected in nature, I am drawn.
Under this leafy oak, on the edge of several fields,
Gently warming my self in the warm morning rays.
From the sun and unto my heart I yield,
To one of the most beautiful sights in most of my days.
The sun rises up and chases the moon away,
While the dark blanket of sky fades away with light,
But surely again, the moon will tuck us in and go out to play,
With only the stars as candles in the dark on a moonless night.
Along the edge of the fields I stride,
Twixt the forest edge and the fields brim,
Whilst the birds fly high, singing with pride,
As I walk twixt the fields so bright and the forest dim.
And in these fields, there wild flowers bloom,
While in the forest trees grow old and age all dreary.
Where as in the fields the flowers intertwine, as if on a loom,
To be a pretty sash for an old forest so weary.
Now through a sea of green and brown I stride,
Away from the forest, so aged and old,
Thick with underbrush and vines over grown with dismal pride,
And upon the forest fringe the fields invade so bold.
Upon an old stump in the field I sit and I ponder,
Into the gaping maw of the old forest I gazed,
When the old meets the new, and I began to wonder,
And saw the blending grasses and trees, like a painting, and I was amazed.
For the birds and bees, took to the trees,
And the deer and their fawn gazed upon new grass,
And a badger lazed on bended knees,
And I knew these creatures had a grip of solid brass.
And I laughed out so very merrily,
Watching the antics of young spring creatures at play
In the splendor of natures beauty,
In the middle of a spring day.
Now the forest was quite old,
Each tree as old as time,
Tales of wisdom to be learnt and told,
Nothing like the fields of youth, still in their prime.
Upon the edge of the wood the fields did approach,
Into the dense tangle it did crawl,
Upon the old roots, the grass did encroach,
Each tree lead to a brawl.
With mosses here and there, upon bark it did abide,
And the creatures of night slept,
While the grass besieged and around the trees did it wholly reside,
A painful memory awoke in me, and I openly wept.
Two systems of life, without any strife, clashed boldly with each other,
The lives of innocent creatures are taken,
The fight of life to surely upset any mother,
From a slumber I did awaken.
On a stump of a tree,
In the middle of a field,
And wondered if anything in life was free?
Free from the onslaught of change, what is the shield?
A tree takes a life time to grow,
And the field only one season,
But an old forest has a set system to live and to know,
While the needs no reason.
Oh to this place were wild flowers thrive,
Were the brush grows uncontrolled and wild,
Compared to the unchanging world of the Wood’s drive,
And its sense to live a life so mild.
The winds of change are ever present in the fields,
While an old forest looked good for lumber,
And the power of the wind that it did wield,
Sent an old sprit to slumber.
Now off the stump I did so jump and making my own road,
Through fields of brown and green
To a place that cal my own abode.
And the odd stump of an old tree I passed, occasionally.
Now the remnants of that old forest I knew,
All stumps and limbs scattered on the ground,
The wind started to blow through,
And little blades of new green grass, started to grow around.
by Nate M.
What is this feeling that I feel,
In the warmth of a pink morning dawn,
That makes my heart turn and reel,
To a sight of colors reflected in nature, I am drawn.
Under this leafy oak, on the edge of several fields,
Gently warming my self in the warm morning rays.
From the sun and unto my heart I yield,
To one of the most beautiful sights in most of my days.
The sun rises up and chases the moon away,
While the dark blanket of sky fades away with light,
But surely again, the moon will tuck us in and go out to play,
With only the stars as candles in the dark on a moonless night.
Along the edge of the fields I stride,
Twixt the forest edge and the fields brim,
Whilst the birds fly high, singing with pride,
As I walk twixt the fields so bright and the forest dim.
And in these fields, there wild flowers bloom,
While in the forest trees grow old and age all dreary.
Where as in the fields the flowers intertwine, as if on a loom,
To be a pretty sash for an old forest so weary.
Now through a sea of green and brown I stride,
Away from the forest, so aged and old,
Thick with underbrush and vines over grown with dismal pride,
And upon the forest fringe the fields invade so bold.
Upon an old stump in the field I sit and I ponder,
Into the gaping maw of the old forest I gazed,
When the old meets the new, and I began to wonder,
And saw the blending grasses and trees, like a painting, and I was amazed.
For the birds and bees, took to the trees,
And the deer and their fawn gazed upon new grass,
And a badger lazed on bended knees,
And I knew these creatures had a grip of solid brass.
And I laughed out so very merrily,
Watching the antics of young spring creatures at play
In the splendor of natures beauty,
In the middle of a spring day.
Now the forest was quite old,
Each tree as old as time,
Tales of wisdom to be learnt and told,
Nothing like the fields of youth, still in their prime.
Upon the edge of the wood the fields did approach,
Into the dense tangle it did crawl,
Upon the old roots, the grass did encroach,
Each tree lead to a brawl.
With mosses here and there, upon bark it did abide,
And the creatures of night slept,
While the grass besieged and around the trees did it wholly reside,
A painful memory awoke in me, and I openly wept.
Two systems of life, without any strife, clashed boldly with each other,
The lives of innocent creatures are taken,
The fight of life to surely upset any mother,
From a slumber I did awaken.
On a stump of a tree,
In the middle of a field,
And wondered if anything in life was free?
Free from the onslaught of change, what is the shield?
A tree takes a life time to grow,
And the field only one season,
But an old forest has a set system to live and to know,
While the needs no reason.
Oh to this place were wild flowers thrive,
Were the brush grows uncontrolled and wild,
Compared to the unchanging world of the Wood’s drive,
And its sense to live a life so mild.
The winds of change are ever present in the fields,
While an old forest looked good for lumber,
And the power of the wind that it did wield,
Sent an old sprit to slumber.
Now off the stump I did so jump and making my own road,
Through fields of brown and green
To a place that cal my own abode.
And the odd stump of an old tree I passed, occasionally.
Now the remnants of that old forest I knew,
All stumps and limbs scattered on the ground,
The wind started to blow through,
And little blades of new green grass, started to grow around.
