Wood 13 Tuesday Aug 2013 Posted by Caro Field in poetry ≈ 2 Comments Spalded beech. I love the look of it, The feel of it, The smell of it. Marbled veins run through it. Smooth to touch, Living, almost breathing. The smell is intoxicating, The feel is divine. Wood… Share this:TwitterFacebookLinkedInEmailPinterestLike Loading...
RAAckerman@Cerebrations.biz said:
Your poem about beech, Is simply a peach!
caroness1 said:
Thanks Roy!