Harvest Rhyme
Shining with sweat
in trademark tan
two chipmunks set
the mood for an afternoon
of play. How easily
my children let fall
their rakes and forget
their duties.
Lovers of no-hand
dares, my lost labourers
flip and spring across
the grass, imitating
a tree-trunk dance
scurry left, quick-quick
reverse, every move
instinctually rehearsed.
I cannot deny how
their fall smiles
blur into another time
when barely tall enough
to swing, I reeled in
the sky, bringing back
messages from the Gods.
