I’d rather be
than where the pale
green tips of trees
wave in silky sweet
air of lilac to
a hearty chorus
of peepers playing
to the dance
of new insect
love in the light
of a pink moon
just beyond
the grasp of
branches.
NaPoWriMo #9
I’m writing a poem every day in April as part of NaPoWriMo’s celebration of National Poetry Month. We may be able to live without poetry, but who would want to?
Suburban Satsangs 
“peepers playing
to the dance
of new insect
love in the light”
sounds more than about right and does so in a prance
regards
I like the sound of that — a prance. Thank you, Doug!