went out for a walk
and a few steps saw
a pencil on the sidewalk
bent down and picked it up
a purple one like new

my strides took me
outside the bustling town
still ahold of the pencil
entered the forest and
wondered how to find paper
noticed some fast-food
the litter had strayed there
so tore it into strips but,
needed a writing surface–

followed a skunky marsh path
where a crumbled bridge crossed
a long swamp rut where
a flat broken plank lay
clean & perfect for writing on
I thought, ‘but what can I write?’
as –right then– a squadron
of dragonflies strafed me,
and a bold rabbit stared from
the edge of another opening
but I don’t care if I can’t
write well. I see miracles
my limited mind cannot
express, or capture–

yonder, a dark arch invited me
to turn right into a corridor
of virgin maple trees, barely
seen by human eyes, but
mine have, and I feel like
I own this neglected place
that most care nothing about.
I wanted to sit and write with
my new purple pencil on the
torn Arby’s bag and plank,
but I needed a seat, so I looked
behold, an aged gray log –
invited me & I sat
on my comfortable seat
and scribbled this down
feeling as giddy as
a little kid with new toys–
for we all can be royalty again
if we would but return to
the roots of our nature
to which we belong

…

..

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© –Limericist 2007