DEBORAH ROSE GREEN

Young Author, Poet and Dreamer!

I Miss The Sun And The Birds

Darling, the dryad,

They coo and call

And they hack at my knees

And hope that I’ll fall.

I cannot breathe

Or whisper objection.

I’m a petrified oak

For their vile tree collection.

Nothing, the nymph,

Places her palm on mine.

'I love you,’ she sighs

And I know it’s a sign.

I’m another corpse

For paper and play

And the woods won’t forget me

But you won’t hear me say,

‘I’m glad to be of service

For your table and words.

I’ve got to say, though,

I miss the sun and the birds.’