So old is the wood, so old,
Old as Fear.
Wrinkled roots; great stems; hushed leaves;
No sound near.
Shadows retreat into shadow,
Deepening, crossed.
Burning light singles a low leaf, a bough,
Far within, lost.
The Woods Entry
Robert Laurence Binyon
(1)
Poem topics: fear, light, lost, shadow, great, sound, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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