‘Neath Weighty Boughs She Sleeps…

By Margot J. of Pidpenky

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast,
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair.
- Joyce Kilmer

This forest is very old – immense trees stand silently, their boughs weighed down with time. The pathways are often hidden and dark, lost in the deep shadows of the woods. But one girl is very much at home here.

Drusilla loves the forest’s secret places, its knolls and crevices, its unexpected clearings where shafts of sunlight pierce through the leafy canopy above. She knows its quiet residents, the birds and animals her friends and companions.

This is just a preview. To read and see more, buy a copy of The Enchanted Forest in print or digital format.

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