Wood

A gnarly, old and tangled tree,
Became my summer home.
A shady cool green canopy,
I never felt alone.


His skin was knots and spirals,
A wise and lovely face.
He spoke in leafy whispers,
 And bowed his limbs with grace.


His hands were witches fingers,
And caught bad buzzy bugs.
His soft old moss was carpet,
A lovely woodland rug.

His arms were long and spindly,
Bright birds perched happily.
I spent my hours just reading, 
Curled on his knobbled knee.

Some memories are noisy,
A people filled bright room.
But some are simply timeless,
From a tree lined afternoon . 

LW

driftwood from the beach

staring out through sightless eye

is it bird or fish?

Keep up the amazing drawing everyone!

X Love Liz x