Meredith B.

The Forest

The crisp leaves fall from the protective trees,
Down to the open ground,
Until the trees become nothing more than a wasteland.
The sun shines fiercely through the branches, casting shadows.
Upon moist leaves form puddles of dew.
Squirrels scurry up the trees and down again,
Transporting acorns from place to place.

As the sun sets, the nocturnal creatures awake for their nightly prowl.
The nightly song of the cricket becomes the lullaby of the forest.
Throughout the forest doors, across the forest floors.



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