The Forest of Arden: A Sonnet

Let’s take a journey back to Shakespeare’s day,

When verdant forest coated England’s heart.

With Oak and Ash and Birch, and flowering May,

A place of mystery and Fairy Art.

 

Beside a path of Stitchwort and sweet Thyme,

A handsome youth is by his cattle led.

There, hidden from view by thorny Eglantine,

The Fairy Queen sleeps on a Primrose bed.

 

A Willow grows aslant a glassy stream,

Where sweet Ophelia finally laid her head.

Alas, that forest now is but a dream,

That wild and wonderland is almost dead.

 

Man’s lust for power, money, need to own,

Has changed that place, to tarmac, brick and stone.

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