sonnet
For the Trees
The forest, damp and gloomy, welcomes summer,
green canopy a shield against the heat.
A woodpecker, the grove’s incessant drummer,
accompanies a youngling’s “mommy” bleat.
And down below, all manner creepy crawly
is rushing to complete the season’s work.
A praying mantis preys upon the holy.
Behind its compound eyes, an evil smirk.
An aging deer — will he retain his harem —
hoofs stepping softly on the rotting earth.
Perhaps this winter will be kind and spare him.
His does in tow, some fresh from giving birth.
The leaves are rustling with the slightest breeze.
And now you’ve seen the forest for the trees.
I’m blessed to live in the woods — it’s almost a tree house. These little guys are ever present.
I write mostly formal poetry, sometimes soulful, often irreverent, and occasionally downright bawdy. Think Dr. Seuss collaborates with Chaucer. Well, maybe halfway. If you find that intriguing, more is available here.
