Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet in Wonderland to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
In the woods where the trees have voices, and the roots have ears below,
You must walk with a gentle footstep, and speak in a whisper low.
For the oaks are old historians, and they remember every tale,
And the willows are the gossips, and the birches trace the trail.
A fox in a velvet waistcoat led me down a mossy stair,
To a hollow where the mushrooms were dancing everywhere.
The fireflies were the lanterns, and the crickets were the band,
And a beetle in a tuxedo took a bow and kissed my hand.
I danced until the moonrise, and then I heard the trees,
Whispering me a lullaby in the rustle of the breeze.
I woke up on a mossy bed with the morning in my hair,
And a fairy ring around me, and a feeling of magic in the air.
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Commentary
Every tree in these woods has something to say. The poem walks softly through them, joins a woodland dance and wakes up inside a fairy ring.
In the woods, “the trees have voices,” and “the roots have ears below,” so one must “speak in a whisper low.” The oaks are “old historians,” and “the willows are the gossips.” A fox “in a velvet waistcoat” leads the speaker to a hollow where “the mushrooms were dancing everywhere.”
There, “the fireflies were the lanterns, and the crickets were the band,” and “a beetle in a tuxedo took a bow and kissed my hand.” After dancing, the speaker hears the trees “whispering me a lullaby.” They wake with “the morning in my hair” and “a fairy ring around me.”