Meander along
The old country path
Between the oaks,
Wearing Spanish moss in their hair.
The breeze stirs up
The dusty pollen
You give a sneeze,
As you gaze at the trees.
Life bubbles out
Of every crevice.
Ants march along
On a mission.
Gnats swarm around
Your sweaty forehead.
Moths and butterflies
Dance above the shrubs.
Wildflowers decorate
The in-between.
I whistle a humble tune,
And kick a few pebbles
Down the path.
The sun peeks through the trees,
But the shade covers us.
Perhaps, we should head back,
And have a glass of sweet tea.
