Unsure of his direction, he sought the sun.
Long gone, the shadows of treetops teased the moon.
No compass but your own, said the fox, bright eyed in the dark,
and vanished after a shrew, under a holly bush.
Sounds suggested purpose elsewhere, sharpening his gloom.
The clock ticked, and ticked again.
It was suddenly cold.
In the morning, his neighbours found a new tree in the forest,
covered with moss.
My contribution to this week’s Thursday Poet’s Rally – free verse.
Thank you for the Perfect Poet Award – you can find the other winners here.
I nominate Emily Jane.
Here’s a little haiku about poetry for Jingle.
a grey world eats everyone.
You make it such fun!