By: Mary Bone
One by one, baby turtles
go down a winding path.
The sandhill was always a place of safety.
The shells will be their nightly home,
a protection from the elements.
Our mother hovers
over us with juicy worms,
beaks are open wide.
We are protected by daddy bird,
as mom searches for food.
Soon it is time to tumble out of our cozy home.
Nimble wings become stronger
as we learn to take flight.
The geese flew over,
heading south for the winter.
Cold wind began to filter through
their marsh home.
A familiar honking sound resonated overhead,
signaling a time for a straight line formation
to a warmer place.
Drops of moisture
pelt the leaves of an old tree,
as the wind picks up.
Limbs scatter at their own free will.
The gardener takes it all in stride.
His rake is ready for the aftermath.
Grandpa’s Swamp Rabbit Stew
Grandpa made the best Swamp Rabbit stew
in the county.
The neighbors could smell the aroma
from their houses.
This was the time for them to
visit at their own free will.
Biscuits were brought to sop up the
Mary Bone has been writing poetry and short stories since the age of twelve. Her poems have appeared at The Oklahoma Today Magazine, Poetry Pacific, Literary Yard, Spillwords, Literary Librarian, The Bezine, The Homestead Review and other places. Mary’s hobbies include painting and drawing.