Friday Night Poetry


Squirrel WorldIMG_1836

Years ago I watched your great-grandparents

leap from tree branch to tree branch

when we moved into our home.

As our children were born,

so were there children.

As we cooked dinner

and read books on the porch

they fought, and scavenged for food,

and mated above our heads.

Our children were still toddlers

as your grandparents were

reaching their prime.

Our paths rarely crossed

except maybe when we hung a bird feeder

or I swerved to miss your parents

in my car.

I often forgot you were there at all.

Tonight, as I watch you jump

among the trees your ancestors claimed,

I remember how things seemed back then.

Before the fence that changed the feel of the yard.

Before the swing set or the bird bath.

Back when the tree were first ours,

although they are really yours,

and always will be.

Unexpected BeautyMushrooms

The dewdrop glistens

As it desperately clings

From the tilted cap

Colored in brilliant red

And dotted in white

That sits upon

One of a cluster

Of delicate toadstools

Rising up

Out of the loaf of moldy bread

Cast Upon

The compost heap.

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