Felicity Powell

December 3, 2012 § Leave a comment

The Undead Forests

You can still smell the smoke
Trapped between the paper leaves;
The wood sawn and pulped
Into a mass of crinkled autumn.

But still the dead trees grow:

The oaken cases stand in rows
With shelves like branches, stemming fruit;
The books, where inky tree sap flows
To hidden seeds, who take their root.



Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading Felicity Powell at Writers For Libraries.


%d bloggers like this: