Jerry Hackett Poet Rhyme

Her Old Scribe

At times I sit beneath the trees
With pen and paper on my knees
I search for something new not old
I search for story never told

Above my head the squirrels leap
And at my feet do critters creep
I listen for the coming sound
Of story wanting to be found 

The leaves they dance and then they rest
The sun moves too, towards the west
Suns will set and birds will flock
As days pass the months do clock

I wait to see if the letters form
A destined tale or one of storm
So, let the words ring ever true
And sound a fairytale for you.

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