World Sublime

By Michele T. Fry, 1978

"Here I am", yelled the boy
as through the woods went he.

Scent of pine, World sublime.
Standing quietly.

"Hey, it's me. Can't you see?"
he stomped along the path.

A trickling brook. A rippling breeze.
A shady canopy.

Spat the water. Pluck the flower.
Snap the bower. "Whee!"

Squirrels scamping. Birds chirping.
Doe behind a tree.

Eerie feeling. "No one's here!
No one's here but me."

Cooling shower. Timid flower.
Nestling chickadee.

"It's hot. I'm bored!"
A'home away went he.

Scent of pine. World sublime.
Sighing sweet relief.