The laurels

Old Laurels grow side by side
rooted on sandstone paths
where fallow deer come to rest
hidden in evergreens breast
Dappled light with emeralds glow
Badgers live there far below.
Among the laurels it can be dark
in the distance you hear a lark.
Running noice, the dash of deer
a magpie calls. The unknown fear.
Rustle, whisper in the trees
a snap of twigs, the laurels tease
Nothing there, its just a wren
sitting on a bright green stem.
it lifts its tail and makes a call
as a single brown leaf falls.