- Stephen J. Murray
Connecticut Woodlands
Mold
On tree trunks and branches
such mold may be seen
as to render the forest
a hand-painted green
by a mythical
mischievous elf or wood sprite
as base-coat for winter’s
fine icicle white
so we may, as he does,
make merry with cold,
remember the green,
and never grow old.
Rear Windows
When I look out back
at the nearby woods
I see back into a time
for centuries unchanged
teeming with beings
to each other attuned
and by electronics
unrearranged.
Springtime Mythology
Renewal comes when daffodils
spring up from the ground,
forsythias burst to blossom
and azaleas all abound,
reviving ancient sagas
of Orpheus here above
leading Eurydice up from Hades
not by bravery but by love.
Sounds of Spring
Woodpecker drumming on a hollow log.
Bullfrog humming in a woodland bog.
Sounds tumble through the centuries
by our forebears heard
bringing them into our hearts
without need to say a word.