Depths Of The Hollow Poem by Matt Teaford

In depths of the hollow,
With caution I proceed.
I'm sure no one will follow,
As I walk from weed to weed.

This place is my own,
No soul will see me here.
I come to be alone,
Spring-Time every year.

What is it about this place,
That makes me feel alive..?
A wide and open space,
Away from busy hive...

I glide my hand along,
An old decrepit tree.
Humming out a song,
Just this tree and me...

I look it up and down,
As if my best of friend...
But soon I start to frown,
My friend has met his end.

I'm just about to leave,
When on my leg there comes a scratch.
What I see, I can't believe...
A tree as skinny as a match.