Next to Chase woods

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Ivy skinned trees of curling branches
Whisper in the breeze.
Higher on the hill
The winds take,
Creaking trunks
Grasp around ancient boulders,
Fingers of time
That slip with each rain.

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Published by Pete D Johnson

A place to explore my creativity, talk about my experiences of mental health and just vent. Quick sketches when the mood takes me.

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