The Veins of the Forest.
They twist and turn like the veins on an arm,
branches long and thin form leaves.
Under the ground, the roots shoot through the soil, greedily sucking up the water from the other trees.
Trunks thick and thin, tall and short, form branches that entwine to and fro through the air,
poking through the leafy canopies of other forest dwellers, giving fun paths for squirrels to scuttle from, or for the birds to make their nests, picked up from the forest floors.
Sticks fallen from the tree branches, dry and brittle, held together by mud and moss, to make a comfortable home for the little chicks.
Trees close to one another, gnarled like the arthritic bones of an old man.
Leaves make food for caterpillars, flowers make nectar for the bees, but the branches of a tree are the veins of the fore.
Look for it here, http://www.amazon.co.uk/My-Book-Poetry-Robert-Feld-ebook/dp/B00G572WP8/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1382628571&sr=1-1&keywords=my+book+of+poetry
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