The forest glade lightens
misty grey morning
ere the sun
burns off the dewy gloom.
Deer browse small shrubs
in the clearing,
sating their hunger
before retiring for the day.
Woodpecker taps away,
only sound in the early stillness.
His rapping echoes the wood,
Buck suddenly starts,
ears twitch back and forth.
Startled by some muffled sound
the herd gracefully bound
into the timber,
The quiet returns.
Birds begin to sing.
Another day begins
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Comments about this poem (Forest Glade by hap rochelle )
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