On mucky, cloudy days
there’s poetry in my pond.
From solstice to equinox;
it crosses winter’s ray.
Admired the woodchuck,
on his groundhog’s day.
Yet, the busy muskrat
chases Eternal clouds away.
Grassy tower stands…
it stirs, shifts, and sways.
Till… last of days.
“As water disappears from the sea,
And a river becomes parched and dries up,
So man lies down and does not rise.
Till the heavens are no more,
They will not awake
Nor be roused from their sleep.”
Job 14: 11-12
We know so much about the groundhog, but it’s the muskrat that stays awake all winter at water’s edge munching on grasses. He’s a busy little thing piling up a tower of reeds and marsh debris to make his cozy abode. I’d say there’s poetry in that… just as you will find over at dVerse, as poets use their imagination with a form of the word “poem”.
Patti Wolf 