In a Field Long Forgotten
Concealed in a spring
of honey dye on alder field,
clipped wings and feet coupled,
a broken appendage,
never to exhibit its grace
and charm that once was envied.
Forgotten as the seasons pass
it slowly shed its beauty,
imposed by red, orange, brown rust.
Roots, tendrils, leaves;
nests obliged nature’s creatures,
embedded in its coil,
worn down its cracked and stain,
leather seats.
Emerald velvet moss
concealing its frame,
lulled by pleasing harmonies.
Garment bent in the undergrowth.
Orchard grass and wearing morning
equally lay roads to diverge
a wooded field hidden,
away from travelers
and unruly sun
that never stops.
Wind runs free through windows,
mocking, nature's changing course.
Seasons run evanescent,
untrimmed that it's meant to stay
concealed in a spring of honey dye
on alder field long forgotten.
4/27/2018
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