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.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
