The filtered light from high inside
The forest’s canopy descended
In rivulets beside the aspen trees,
Dancing off the light green leaves
Until it reached the moistened ground.
There, fervid flowers, donned in royal hues,
Spread themselves throughout
The ancient battleground, like soldiers
Placed upon the earth for endless war.
Suddenly, high above the struggle,
A nightingale announced the first alarm of trouble,
As a small girl, dressed in red, the color of blood,
Waded defiantly through the wood beneath,
And snapped a flower’s stem below its head,
To make a small bouquet for one she loved.