Down a two-trackin trail through the whispering pines
to the crest of a hill where the morning sun shines.
There at the top of a sycamore tree
a red-breasted robin acknowledges me.
His melody floats to the meadow below
that shelters the promise of spring’s early show.
A babble of bluebirds fly by in a whirl.
Rose-breasted softness beneath pastel swirl.
They flit and they flutter in waistcoats of blue
searching for breakfast above the morn’s dew.
A long-legged frenzy and then a shrill cry
allows me to capture the red in an eye.
I stroll past the thicket and high on a limb
a song sparrow trills its magnificent hymn.
Tweet. Tweet. Tweet. Triiiiiiiil.
Sweet. Sweet. Sweet. Thriiiiiil.
A crescendo of longing emits from the swamp,
as I step ever closer, where peepers do tromp.
Their deafening chorus fulfills my desire
uplifting my soul ever higher and higher.
Peep. Peep. Peep. Peep. Peep. Peep. Peep. Peep. Peep. Peep.
Bypassing multitudes of revisions, blogging allows me to create a draft, promptly publish, and immediately bask in your praise. Thank you for that.
That’s all from the Peacock Prairie poet. Have a good day!