The sylvan landscape stretched for miles
reached across golden fields by stiles.
Leaves carpeted the ground like tiles
whilst branches lay in gathered woodpiles.

Ancient venerable trees lined the aisles
that wandered willy nilly like juveniles.
Along the rivers banks were basking reptiles
with mouths that upturned in happy smiles.

In the midst of the rushing water were isles
that rose up high like big projectiles.
And trees marched up the hills in files
giving shelter to the fox and his wiles.

The peace of the woodlands beguiles
within its tranquillity are no exiles.