by Dorothea Barth ©2013
Without a sound the prairie wolf appears
Then darts below into the tangled vines
While seeking distance from misguided fears
A banded kingsnake b'neath a rock reclines
The tortoise with its blackened shell once blinks
Revealing it is real, with wizened face
Leaves us to wonder what it really thinks
Of those inclined to move at fleeter pace
With certainty I felt I knew this land
I roam its weathered path around and round
Its song, its scent, its sage so master-planned
Yet now three guests arrived without a sound
Refreshed by new life, ready to discover
What secret winged sprites do nearby hover?
Copyright 2009 Dorothea Barth. All rights reserved.