4 X 3 Poem by Stuart Doggett

Creeping gold parts sleepy grey,
Glinting rainbows in fleeting blue,
Mint pink floats on the wind,
Hiding the twisted brown frame,
From the inquisitive winged things.
What do they hear?
What do they hear?

Peels ring the fruits contentment,
Branches bend as burden begins,
Rustling announces fortunes changing,
Leaves concealing the monsters den.
Eyes stare out from hidden spaces,
What do they see?
What do they see?

Rosy red and shiny new,
A sweet and juicy bulging expanse,
A heavenly meteors’ short fall
Briefly brightens rot and mould,
Surface crawls, alive and thinking,
What do they know?
What do they know?

Buckets pour, frigid and wet,
Reviving tired and sagging spirits,
Colds crystal razors cut in deep,
Slough off the broken and the old,
Grate down the new to hardened shells.
What do they want?
What do they want?