The National Forest called the Big Thicket in East and Southeast Texas-I found this dreamy atmosphere there. <br /> <br />The tall trees in the forest now are hushed <br />And listen to a song, long past, that rushed <br />Amongst them-music far away but near, <br />A solemn music they alone can hear- <br />A ghostly haunting sound, and their old boughs <br />Move to the tune, with quiet sighing soughs. <br />The forest floor is old and deep and secret. <br />Shade from distant years still lingers yet, <br />Laid softly o'er its roots and undisturbed, <br />Concealing whispers there long unperturbed <br />For centuries, which those who long ago <br />Were hearing, seemed to also love and know. <br />Faint whispers of the voices and footsteps <br />Of early times which through the trees have crept <br />And treading on dry grass, and filt'ring through <br />Dry leaves collected 'round their mossy moots. <br />To an unseen musician's quaverings <br />While playing ancient songs on ancient strings, <br />Long shadows dance in wisps of melodies <br />And call me deeper into dark Pine trees, <br />And far into their agéd, now quaint tone, <br />Belonging wholly to an era gone. <br />Forgotten, all except the forest song.<br /><br />Kate Wiley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-song-of-the-forest/
