Scenes From the Countryside
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I love to sit under a tree
And smile as songbird sings,
He cocks his head and stares at me
And drops white slimy things.
And now behold, the leaves above
Reflect a change of season
A touch of brown, a flare of red
A dripping, sappy lesion.
Migrating robins from the north,
Their song too sweet for words,
Awake my soul; my heart calls forth,
“Shut up, you idiot birds!”
My eyes are like a dried up sponge
And soak in scenes of nature,
The tree, the brook, the winding road,
Some dead, runover creature.
And with my love, in peaceful bliss
As frequently I am
She shares with me in one sweet kiss
Her life, her soul, her phlegm.
And in a flash of brilliant truth
When fireflies start to dance,
I relive golden days of youth
(And promptly wet my pants).
Happy April Fool's Day, everybody!
Wrote this in college the night before a final
when I should have been studying...
Copyright © John Watt | Year Posted 2020
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