On the calm cove
Rain drops bounce
Like little balls.
Rain drops
Play a tune
On the bottoms of our water buckets.
Down over the blueberry hill
Coat stretched over head
A sail bellowing in the wind.
Spring rain
Blue Bar rubber boots
Sloshing in a road-side pool.
A white moon
Sailing
Following me all the way home.
Trout breaching
And voices rising
Around the open fire.
Soft breezes
Ruffling, puffing
The downy feathers of robins nesting.
Dry grass
Brittle as grasshopper’s legs
Crackle under my feet.
Playing tunes
On a picket fence
Pickety, pickety, pickety, pick
Sleeveens! He cried.
Villians! Hangashores!
A Joe Batt’s Arm Hamlet.
A cloud drifting by
As quiet
As sun shine on the flowers.
Bonfire flankers
Like firey snow flakes
In the dark
A spring breeze whispering,
Wafting up from the cove
Bending buttercups in the garden.
Twelve asters on small mound in a brook
Swirling water parting at their roots
As if in deference to their beauty.
A Scudding band of wind across the lake
Arousing reposing water lilies
Like awakened birds.
Streaming weeds
Like Ophelia’s hair
Spread wide in the purling brook.
Little children skipping through the fall leaves
Sounding like frantic mice,
Scampering.
Leaves falling from trees
Like small birds flitting,
Flittering, fluttering on the gentle breeze.
Roots of trees
Like fossilized pythons
Under leaves.
Crimson laurels
Like little flags
Among the marshy green.
Small golden junipers
With delicate, velvety branches
Like ghost trees in the sun.
