bracken filled and flights of wings.....

the poem of a lovely room

somewhere, hidden in a bower, bracken filled and flights of wings,
living there, beyond the eye's dreams.....a little person, slight of, weightier than a butterfly
yet silken and fond of sunshine, 
a little person, a friend of gentle folk and foxes of the forest.

moss laden footpaths, winterey and sleeping quietly as the forest speaks.
quiet sounds, far past any memories of solitude, wait for the woodsman, 
watch for the peasant milk maid 
for their lives are old and yet filled with stories

stories of old wooden doors, rooms of thick, heavy books and keys
whose owners know not where they arrive from.

stories of roads of brown, soft soil where wooden carts have fastened long trails
of familiar afternoons. i remember that such places find their way.
ready for the old trees lovely limbs and leaves to feather and dance lightly into the sky.
night falls, dusk and bending light and clouds, softer, more gray than that of fading coal

the foot steps out the unknown door, unknown only to the reader inside
this room filled with handwritten letters for stories yet to tell.

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i wrote this poem in 2012 but had forgotten about it. i was going through some of my older blog posts and rediscovered it. i was surprised when reading it; it is quite beautiful. i am very touched by it. sometimes, we do not realize the talent we are given until we look back at what we have done.