by MFrostDelaney

With nature’s evening … here is where I want to be,
in trust, communion with the woods, the lake, its shore

The peepers one by one, then all, croak yearning calls
that amplify and string their mating melodies

The pines release their stippled, sharp-pitched scent into
the air preceding frost and winter’s icy chill

An autumn rain before the dawn has left its damp
that chills and prickles skin, despite the warming sun

The lake mimes tiny ripples shore to shore, reflects
the amber, ferns, and golden bushes, towering pine

as if impressionistic brushes stroked their paints
upon the water, mirror to the flora scenes

The shelter trees stand tall against the coming freeze,
defiant to the cycle bringing mutiny

when leaves turn brown and needles drop and sun recedes
and dark encompasses more hours of the light

For now, the blessings from this earth, my guardian,
impart the peeper-song and dew, possess the day


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