Pot Bellied Sage
A Shadorma
Pot-bellied,
wizened old oak sage;
resting in
silent woods.
Each swollen arthritic joint
tells a magic tale.
Within dark
knotholes of blackness,
lie secrets;
songs only
sung when the woods are silent;
echoes of the past.
You don’t think
that I hear your voice,
when I walk
through the woods.
Wild ferns tickle your fancy;
make you talk in sleep.
I heard a
squirrel mocking you
on Sunday;
while searching
for a nut, beneath your root;
a fairy slapped him.
I laughed and
frightened both of them;
away they ran,
too frightened
by my revealed presence and
I saw you smiling.
I sat to
rest in your shadow;
you told me
that fairy,
was your very own diva
I apologized.
I would not
want to offend a
sweet fairy;
since she cares
for my favorite old oak tree;
who imparts wisdom.
Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2019
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