Looking out my window through the glass,
beyond the unkept yard, dotted by stones,
overgrown with weeds, and wild little flowers,
the woods stand tall and proud.
In the dawn of spring the forest lies,
guarded by a misty veil, just below the canopy.
Lush greens of life cling over branches,
giving way to the thin shield of fog dispersing,
spiraling down dark brown trunks of trees,
to end in the ground below, roots buried deep.
Here and there flecks of gold break through
to finish the mystery of my forest.
Yet I'm not looking outside, through my window.
I never made it past the glass,
the reflection of my eyes.
Adding your comment:
funny how some eye colour changes know mine do depending on my mood....makes it hard to fill our forms asking eyecolour a bit like hair colour changes......thank you 
