A poem.

This cold in my soul is only healed
inside the bosom of a mossy oak.
Inside I’m screaming without you being accessible in my life.
The only respite is where my heart lies…inside that mossy oak.
Deep within the forest,
I dance and sing songs of old.
Waiting for my lover to find me in the grove.
Time has etched my heart
and my bed has gone cold.
But my hope remains pure
while waiting for you.
An eon could go by
and I would still…