Perfection

O I want to wander through the long grass

Past the pond long dry for want of rain

But still vocal with the sounds of frogs and crickets

Then on deep into the wood, home to squirrels and deer,

Or perhaps the odd rabbit or skunk

And the leaves will crackle beneath my feet

The scent of a fresh-felled tree filling the air

Before a wayward raccoon might call it home

Moss grows on all sides in all directions of the trees

As they curl and twirl, bend and uphold the sky

With stout branches, leafy, majestic

Each one a king with many followers of smaller sizes

Then I come to the backwater of the lake,

The lowland where rushes and game birds hide

And the owls observe it all, waiting, watching

For the moment when it will all come to perfection.