poetry – My Wylde Lyfe

A Mourning Haiku

Mom, I see snowdrops!

I see them in your garden.

But you are not here.

Sugar on the trees.

I search for spring in the wind.

It is not here yet.

Oh friendly fleeing fox; who made a mad dash in front of our school bus to a little patch of remaining woods.

How excited the children were to see a wild animal up close.

Where will you go, when even those woods, are obliterated and a new housing complex, or strip mall springs up?

Oh frosty November morning! Where will we get the warmth that will carry us through till spring?

Buttercups and daisies, as far as the eye can see. That is what I saw this morning…what June brought to me.

I recently received a postcard from Spring; I could almost feel her presence.

She said she missed me and she would be back soon.

I saw an oak leaf on the ground. Its perfect shape was so unique and lovely. It made me happy.

I saw another oak leaf. It still had raindrops on it from the night before. It was beautiful.

The American robin is the town crier. He announces the descending of the night.

He sings incessantly, sincerely, melodiously. He sings from the bottom of his heart.

All of a sudden, the meandering grey clouds slowly reveal the bright fingernail of a moon suspended over the darkened treetops.