In the Forest of Lost Fortune

In the Forest of Lost Fortune cries

The one eyed owl of the reddened moon;

Sheltering under starry skies

Each night he hoots a banished tune.

 

Come thither his nocturnal fleet,

Trees uproot like a marching band;

Branches shake to his cosmic beat

Resounding deep throughout the land.

 

Under the twilight leaves change hue,

Flickering like a newborn flame;

Flaxen, violet, green and blue,

And many colours none can name.

 

Wavering fields of golden corn

Swirl to the rhythm in a trance;

Twirling round with a leaping fawn,

Breaking off in a scattered dance.

 

Dusk has been an orbiting friend,

Dawn returns like a wicked foe;

Down into soil the trees descend,

From seismic tides back down below.

 

Their time of roaming nearly spent,

Hours slide into minute frames;

The Guardians wail a long lament,

Anon sans cesse such fleeting flames.

 

Bluebells blossom, soft lays the dew,

Clouds break through with a parting glance;

Alas, if only someone knew

How nature guards the dead romance.

 

Two humans, like nomadic Huns,

Went hunting on a morning prowl;

Both wandered off with loaded guns,

On target for a flighty fowl.

© 2017 AGP

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