The Woods Poem by Whisper Loudly

Lean, brown trees, that never have leaves,
Bend to lightest breeze,
They swing and rattle,
creak and clatter,
And speak silently to me.
Streams that flow fast and wide,
When it seems like they never could,
Carry me along,
Bridges we've built,
long ago in childhood,
We spent hours inside our own little world,
the woods more welcoming than home,
And almost worshipped the field near the forest,
where we used to roam,
Music played in our heads,
sound effects to our made-up tales,
And wherever we decided to walk,
We made sure to leave another trail,
We're still those children now,
and we still visit the woods,
our home,
our shelter,
our world outside the world,
and were able to look back,
and leave a path,
for whoever visits next.