Children’s shouts and singsong yells
propels the summer fun along.
Where one woodpecker injects —
a sparrows twill invites delight.
The sky is high. The sun is bright,
but clever owls don’t fly till night.
A blackbird rasps and clasps a worm
which squirms and squeals a silent scream.
A daydream — seems so real — precise. . .
the drum of something like a drone
disturbs the words that sought and caught
and taught a peace lie piece less in a pile
un-thought.