The Copse - Hello Poetry

Jul 20

Charlotte Coldwell

Glassy wide eyes, struck down by the light.
A rush of adrenaline, horns loudly blared.

A collision, soft hide on machinery,
He wandered so close to the unforgiving road.

He stumbled away, with what life he had left,
Searching for cover in the nearby bush.

The young fawn, he takes rest in the copse —
A mirage of ebony trees in the night.

He cries out in pain, blood painting the moss.
The cruelty of man, another life taken.

Mist fills the air, a lunar spotlight sets the scene,
A final breath in, innocence lost in tragedy.

Loving, soft steps trace the forest floor,
As a mother doe, desperately searches for her young.

- C.c

Jul 20

Charlotte Coldwell

The Last Dance

A small flutter in the morning twilight,
Moving along with the tranquil wind.
A set of gossamer wings float and hover,
A moth's last dance through the mist.

The ebony barked trees loom tall and mighty,
And deep shadows enshroud the bush.
Magic, early light rays glimmer down,
Counting down each the moth's final breaths.

A dewy air of sweet vapour encases,
And clings to the flora of the copse.
The birds sings songs of a suspenseful dawn.
Harmonious is the morn, as the moth lands for rest.

Sing out, you canorous birds, sing out,
Let the gossamer wings dance home on your song.
As the morning mist subsides to a sunny sky,
A life comes to an end, surrender to the dew.

And oh, the moth, she grieves the moon.

- C.c

— The End —