Enchanted Trails

She came back from the forest, but the forest, it seems, did not come back from her.
She still hears its voice, echoing inside, ringing with a whispering whirr.
She closes her eyes and sees the trees, their veil-like trunks,
She still smells of herbs, fresh forest air, and pinewood husks.

She let the nectar of her hair flow in sparkling waterfalls,
Rushing in shimmering streams, as over her shoulders it falls,
Across her tender chest, down her graceful back, along her spine,
Coating her whole body in a glow that forever will shine.

She scattered laughter in the shimmer of silver bells,
Laughing with her head thrown back in deep, hidden dells,
Unconsciously, fully, surrendering with all her sincere grace,
And the sparks of her soul lit her face in a tender trace.

She lay on the ground - poppies bloomed beside her shoulders,
Filling them with scarlet light, reflected in her eyes, with amber-crimson smoulders…
A river ran over her legs, rustling its sweet, enchanting song,
Beckoning and dooming her into a dance wild, willful, strong.

She crossed the edge of the wood without turning back,
Unaware of how the forest whispered in her track.
She came back from the wood, but the forest, it seems, did not come back from her.
She still feels the trails - they pulse with a whispering whirr.

01.04.2025