Hidden, the forest floor bejewelled
in fallen leaves and berries,
more beautiful from the bottom
peering up, than above.

The verdant trees hang dream-like
speared in sunshine and spotlight
the trails through the tall grass
travelled by beetle-back and carriage.

A wizened owl watches while the sly cat sells its wares
in the market square where
even the smallest things take form
and dream.

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Kent Oliver Laurel

Oh hi, kinda find this poem to be so cute. I dunno why, maybe because small things always exudes that cute and adorable atmosphere. ^^