by B. F. O’Connor
In the woods I hid
and watched the trespassers
weave among the forested slopes
on a winter day.
Birds screamed at their passing,
and squirrels scurried
through the wilted underbrush
and blankets of leaves.
Alone, I peered down
from the ancient blind
left by some merciless hunter,
becoming my refuge
from the chilly sorrows
of a mislaid sense of self-worth
Cold and chill
crept along my spine
drafting up my legs
and un-tucked shirt.
I watched strangers
dance beneath the barren limbs
of slumbering trees,
children dragging their parents
with words of coaxing
deeper into the resting forest’s expanse
seeking some unknown reward
for their noisy and bounding effort
beneath my refuge
among the twisted branches
near the cold grey sky.
Copyright © 2022 B. F. O’Connor
Wordsmith: At The Forge 