A tale once told, of a spirit old, left goosebumps, up and down my arms; he would dance in the wood, every chance that he could, and never would he ever do harm. In and out of the brush, with a whoosh and a rush, Fred Astaire-like, with all his charm; though I’ve never really been, exactly where he’s seen, I was told there’s no cause for alarm.
He’s the sage of the forest, and although he’s no florist, he can make everything look grand; just by running about, such a natural sprout, it’s all done with a wave of his hand. Next time you come through, remember what to do, look for the one passing by; he’ll frolic and play, oh, but, then run away, all in the blink of an eye.
Poem and Photo ©2019 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved