Timber

A golden beam of sunlight shines through scattered patches.

Gold reflects on every surface.

The trees illuminate in a sunny yellow,

Signifying the timeless beauty that fall has bestowed.

Holding a grace that will fade when the wind sharpens

The grassy pastures remain partial to the golden feathers,

That rest among the breeze.

Cool streams run through, 

Marking its presence,

Before leaving once more.

In the distance,

Amid the ensemble of branches and bushes,

Intruders lie in wait,

Armed with their toys of destruction

Waiting to ruin the sanctity of the grove.

Silent bystanders observe the invasion,

Powerless to stall the destruction of their home.

For their end is inevitable,

But so is the enemies',

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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