A quiet friend.
Her soft tendrils weave among the trees
Lacing the forest into an assemblage of Life.
She tousles your hair with whispering words
And breath that smells of lavender.
She speaks in words we cannot understand,
A language of trembling birches and sparrow's wings.
She plants feathery kisses upon tear-stained cheeks
And wraps worries away in a silken box.
Her soft tendrils weave among the trees
Lacing the forest into an assemblage of Life.
She tousles your hair with whispering words
And breath that smells of lavender.
She speaks in words we cannot understand,
A language of trembling birches and sparrow's wings.
She plants feathery kisses upon tear-stained cheeks
And wraps worries away in a silken box.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
writer3499
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