Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Its shady Massanutten afternoon
dropped doilies through the mid-June tree
boughs where abandoned beaver ponds afford
a level plane (now drained and barely graced
by witness trunks of floodtimes past), provide
low cover’s simple space; wild turkeys thrive.
Two watcher red and leather heads: they hid
beneath the portside brush and, silent, bid
farewell to one forsaken chick, alive
and still as death and spotted more than spied
with camouflage to envy till winds displaced
within the vigor of its flight were poured
like hurricanes; youth flapped but silently
away. The peaceful day repented soon.

thank you