Down, in the forest, in established wood
A sapling now stands where an acorn once stood
He sat on the floor of green in the park
And ran his own gauntlet during day and the dark
Avoiding squirrels and dogs that would bark
And soon he’ll grow tall, reaching up into the sky
And up to his branches the birds they will fly.
As birds fly back from the east to the west
To create a new home in the tree that’s the best.
Inkdrop is freelance writer with a passion for exploring the intersections between nature, architecture, and artistic expression. With a background in computing, and writing – his pen name harks back to when he played around with rhymes and a fountain pen. Now joined by a selection of created photos from an acquired DSLR camera He shares insights with scribblers of all backgrounds. Outside of visiting museums and exploring the latest in exhibits , he enjoys walking through the countryside in pursuit of the next rainbow.
The Inkwell 
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