One Last Swig Poem by Paul Reed

The sun slanted through bare trees
Forming zebra-stripes on the grass
Empty branches shifted in the breeze
Over ground glued in sodden mass;

Poking hardy froth of plants still seen
Through debris of leaves and twigs,
Drinking of Summer’s juices green
One last despairing swig;

The path ahead ridged and displaced
By tree roots’ underground lance,
Their search for water traced
Like footsteps in a hidden dance;

And, drifting from over the hill,
On the wings of the sooty crow
Playground laughter and trill
That uplifts the spirits so.