a poem by Bryan Taplits, USA

The shadows played in weary woods-
A dappled, riotous scene,
The trunks so bright-half in the sun-
So tall and stern and clean.

Undoubtedly, the sun's display
Revealed a happy face,
but shadows made them sweet mystique
betraying Nature's fervent grace.

As I looked up in awe (and spite)
And viewed the looming realm,
No longer was I near divine
No longer "at the helm."

Oh, damn. 'Bove me they soared
Wiith all their splendid height.
Knowing this-I came amiss-
Still marveling at their sight.

In sum: “Oh yes. I guess I'm short-
A dwarf, compared to these“,
A pygmy in this giants' land:
And tall no more-
Except for leaves!

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