Site icon Wayne Underhill


By: Wayne Miles-Underhill

You followed me into a forest blue

With one summer morning’s haze

I had beckoned and you came.

I promised you no reward for your faith in me.

Many had more to offer you for

Your basket held many treasures not

Uncommon for one so young and pure.

You gave me permission to taste your fruit.

The juice of your berries tinted my lips and

The wine from your grapes coated my tongue

Leaving me speechless.

Now I am alone in a glade of despair

For I gave you nothing of value,

Perhaps guilt has its own coinage.

I can’t recall if you asked me for anything.

You may have but I must not have heard.

Maybe if I stand at the edge of the forest

And watch for the swirl of your skirt

As you pass, I’ll know that your

Innocence is gone and although my appetite for

Fruit is still not satisfied, you will not heed my call

And pass by without a second glance,

As you should have done long ago.

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