Oh to be back in the forest in springtime
Walking paths one does not often tread
Overgrown through winters neglect
Never knowing where one might be led
Broken boughs strewn o'er most the trails
Fallen trees make no easy way
Amid the devastation new growth abounds
Beauty amongst winter's sad decay
Ambling deeper along the logging tracks
Hearing the chainsaw's persistent hum
Smelling the ever-present petrol fumes
A dangerous oak will soon succumb
To lay like a giant's ghostly corpse
Branches broken its trunk all askew
A seedling grows amongst winter's carnage
Promising the hope of life anew
An old Jack Russell stands on guard
Whilst his master with axe does cut and trim
Meticulously laying the logs in piles
Their work not done till the light grows dim
Eventually the forest yields to an eerie silence
Naught can be heard: man and dog have gone
Save for the trees a softly sighing
In tune to the nightjars distinctive song
