PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

During my first thirteen years, I lived next to a pine tree forest.  Ironically, the person who owned it made a fortune each Christmas season, although he was the town's outspoken athiest.  Our street, and the eleven properties that lay along the western edge of the forest, had once been part of it which, before tje State had been settled, must have been a hunting site for the natiive population as my father plowed up several flint arrowheads (which I now have) when he first laid out his back yard garden some years before he and my mother adopted me.  The air was always, those thhirteen years, filled with pine scent, and both beauty and mystery adorned the forest.  You describe your own forest very well; and while I cannot agree with the last line, I knew that my forest seemed like God had specifically made the forest for our town.  Your poem really helped me revisit those memores . . . thank you for that.