Little Nook …
I sat on a bank near a chilly brook
That bubbled slow over moss covered rocks,
Under the shade of a huge mighty oak,
Watching a pair of beautiful goshawks,
While listening to the woodpecker knocks,
That echoed all throughout this little nook,
In the cozy home of sticks and twigs nest,
The goshawks settled into quiet rest.
Across the brook under the goshawk tree,
Scurrying back and forth, a gray squirrel,
Gathering something so good with great glee,
To store away in his private tree drey.
Laying on my soft blanket beside me
Was my poem book about a faerie girl,
Each day I like to write another poem,
And imagined this little nook her home.
I wondered where she would settle and live
Somewhere within this peaceful little nook,
What is it in today’s poem I should give
To this little faerie in my poem book.
To give her a name she would not forgive,
So I will not write it down in this book,
I cannot give her a sweet lovely name,
It is her secret, t’would not be the same.
As I gazed round the little nook so dear,
My feet seemed to want to taste the water,
Scooting down closer to the brook so near
I dipped in my toes, began to totter,
Quickly I lifted my feet, for the fear
Of falling in the chilly brook water,
I slid in the brook, began to wriggle,
Then I swear I heard a faerie giggle.
© 2017 Phyllis Doyle Burns
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