Tickled

A springtime poem

Tickled

The leaves are softly tickled
by a gentle springtime breeze,
passing by so quietly
through a stand of Maple trees.

It dances with the pine boughs
and mingles with the bees,
then suddenly it slips away
with graceful fluid ease.

The ferns are growing lush and green
upon the forest floor,
spreading by the thousands,
twice as many as before.

I saw a red fox running,
timid as could be,
down the dirt path, out of sight,
to get away from me.

A butterfly is flirting with
the sun rays coming down,
they call this one the monarch;
he does not wear a crown.

An eagle soaring overhead,
rules the skies above.
Doves of morning fly forever,
inseparably in love.

Much like us they stay together
lifetime's shared in love
and only once will they waver
when called by God above.

The morning mist is growing thin,
creation is reviewed,
then everything is borne again;
as life begins renewed.


T.L. Finch