while sitting at a table,
enjoying afternoon tea,
in the shade of a cedar,
a Pileated Woodpecker
dropped from the sky
to land in front of us.
his red crest, jaunty,
black, military uniform
with white piping —
a Sargent Major
standing at attention,
looking back at him.
saw all there was to see,
found us wanting
then, flapped away,
leaving an after image
of black, white and red
against the pines.
The silence of the mourning dove,
more mournful than her song.
She’s lost her mate, her will to live,
yet time still crawls along.
Of days gone by, she dreams her dreams,
when she last heard his song.
In widow’s weeds, by empty nest,
in grief she’ll ever long.
I loved a someone, thought she loved me;
I wrote for her a song.
Now, it just brings, tears to my eyes.
The train keeps moving on.
In hobo camps along the way,
I’ve found where I belong.
Friends lost their way, their will to live,
their time will not be long.
we listen as all nature speaks —
the ripples laughing in the creeks
a rumble from the rocks is heard,
the mournful singing of a bird.
our brothers, sisters, towering trees,
healers, keepers of histories;
leaves to fall, buds grow again,
gray branches sing their sad refrain.