Upon entering into a midwood,
You find yourself surrounded
By the ancient trees which are
Much higher than lofty towers
And castles upon the rocky hills.
Look up to observe the glory
Of their everlasting cooperation
With the blazing sun; look down
To only imagine how deep-rooted
Is their system of wrapping around.
Touching the azure sky
With their thickly boughs,
They dip their luxuriant crowns
Into the broth of clouds.
They cast their stately shadows
Of the trunks for masts
Across the prominent boulders,
Clear ponds, bubbled brooks,
Sagged down lairs of tigers
And the grounds of deer.
The gloomy silence
Of their shrivelled leaves
Frozen within the twilight mist
And the darkness of hollows--
All those mysterious things
Strike you straight to the marrow
With an obvious presence
Of something spirit-like
And ghostly vital hidden behind
The palisade of elves and giants.
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I always loved to roam forests whether on trails or not. The night I slept under the giant redwoods along the Avenue of Giants in Northern California, is reminiscent of your poem.
Ron