Oooh, la la, lah

Forest Treeline    Can we call it green under blue
Dark to black but still green under
White blue of nighting sky slow to call
Itself another day dying and in doing

Give in to cold of night in twilight’s
Glimmer above the trees now in shadow,
And the bed of the dove lovers cooing
A last fluttering goodnight within the

Fir’s deep bosom fragrant with resins,
Void of the winds which turn upon the
Treeline thick and ride upward as though

A roaring flame would; it licking the tops of
Pines in summertime and whooshing over to
Others in the fierce heat of tops popping.

Dark to black but still green under and
Quietly the color flows to eyes discerning
The day is dying and night is slow to call.

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About Pitboss14

Cosmic surfer of paradoxes.
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