In depths of the hollow, <br />With caution I proceed. <br />I'm sure no one will follow, <br />As I walk from weed to weed. <br /> <br />This place is my own, <br />No soul will see me here. <br />I come to be alone, <br />Spring-Time every year. <br /> <br />What is it about this place, <br />That makes me feel alive..? <br />A wide and open space, <br />Away from busy hive... <br /> <br />I glide my hand along, <br />An old decrepit tree. <br />Humming out a song, <br />Just this tree and me... <br /> <br />I look it up and down, <br />As if my best of friend... <br />But soon I start to frown, <br />My friend has met his end. <br /> <br />I'm just about to leave, <br />When on my leg there comes a scratch. <br />What I see, I can't believe... <br />A tree as skinny as a match.<br /><br />Matt Teaford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/depths-of-the-hollow/
