Wait Out The Squall

Forest stands
On edge of its roots
Where wily Foxes romp around
And make of Grass
The trampled Trash,
The Hawks that dive
Craggy highs and lows
Do seem to weave
The edges of the Cloud
Hounding red cumulus eating
Into Papers of the Mind
When eyes spot the Locust Herd
Flirting with the Wind:

Better wait out the Squall
But good if it doesn’t devour
Edgy Forest tall and all.

Copyright © SSJ, 1979




About sandstarsblog

wild reader. writer in the wild. technologist at work. not necessarily in that order.
This entry was posted in collection: at the edge of things, poetry, politics and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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