Happy Friday, everybody! I just can't believe how quickly this month has flown by. Only one more Friday left in this year's NaPoWriMo.
Speaking of Friday, the Found Friday will be coming later today, but for now I have another poem for you. Sit back, slip on those Lewis Carrol-shaded glasses you have been holding onto for just such an occasion as this, and get your nature on.
The Orangutan Garden
Hirsute stones peek their faces
through primaveral wealth,
lichen-bearded and orange.
lend melancholy to their gazes,
but these stones hold no sorrow.
Their stares cobble into smiles
that are only smiles to those eyes
that never fully open on waking,
dream-taught pupils plucking palimpsests
from behind the screen of nature's verdure,
pulling polycardiac madams from their burrows
and inviting them to teatime,
creating insect class systems of aphids and ladybugs
between petal-crenellated towers,
where angels are not uncommon
with their symmetrically painted wings,
where fiddle-shinned crickets and grasshoppers
cross their fragile instruments
and lend twilight those lullabies
born of insomnia.
It isn't that dreamers paint nature with farce;
they just peel back inanimate planes
to see the wonder already there.
In a willow's hecatonchirene hug
or a cobblestone's fuzzy-cheeked stare.