The Forest
In the forest, calm and quiet,
where all my family rests,
the people come in all their riot,
while beating on their chests.
Names they inked into my skin,
and through my veins it flows,
the poison of a thousand knives,
that hate to see me grow.
Why can’t they let me stand and be?
Why can’t they touch me soft?
Why can’t they gently see me,
instead of clawing at my croft?
Our roots run deep to each other,
from the healthy to the sick,
a community of child and mothers,
made of more than earth and stick.
Although our broken spines may ache,
and leaves fade in the sun,
we will brighten in Spring’s wake
and rise again as one.
Hopeful Spring
There was a sweet smell in the air,
of pollen dancing from flowers and bees
zipping in between tall oak trees,
no other season can compare,
with the glorious beauty Spring doth share,
when I am lifted by the gentle breeze,
Spring never fails to appease
the nourishment of my mortal flare.
Although there is a little rain,
and the odd bee doth sting
my contempt for man’s disdain,
I find comfort in the beating wing
of a butterfly that contains
all the beauty that Life can bring.
Rebecca Harding is a 23-year-old aspiring writer and poet who is a recent English Literature graduate. In her spare time, she likes travelling, meditating and long walks. Rebecca enjoys incorporating themes of nature in her writing and feels that by exploring the relationship between humans and the environment, we can learn more about ourselves and our inner nature. She also likes to encourage readers to appreciate the world in which we live. More of Rebecca’s work can be found on her Instagram: @rebeccaharding_writing.
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