Here you will find the Poem Poem - III of poet Henry Treece
Through the dark aisles of the wood Where the pine-needles deaden all sound And the dove flutters in the black boughs Through twilit vaults of the forest Where fungus stifles the roots And the squirrel escapes with a cone Through the dim alleys of pine Where the bent stick moves like a snake And the badger sniffs at the moon Through the green graveyard of leaves Where the stoat rehearses his kill And the white skull grins in the fern.
