Owl in a Port Alberni back yard
I thought I'd put my heart into a poem,
and take it to the forest, dark and deep,
find the mossy path, the broken limb,
a perch from which to read the trees to sleep.
So sonorous, all words verdant and green,
so soft the moss, the pages all between.
I turn them, leaf and fern, salal and flower,
sweet and protected, in my leafy bower.
The dark will tiptoe in on doe-like feet,
will settle tenderly upon the boughs,
and I softly away, and smiling sweet,
the forest safe and dreaming deep, for now.
Oh forest dear, my sanctuary blessed,
it is to you I come, when I seek rest.
I was sitting here, blank-headed as always, when the thought arrived to attempt a sonnet. How distinctly odd.
