A Riff On Diane Hines Fine Rondeau Poem by David McLansky

I love a tree’s
Rich canopy
It’s leaves and branches
Shelter me
The rain comes down
It makes me shiver
And then the bowman
Draws from his quiver
A hardened arrow
Of sanded ash
To pierce my heart,
I see it flash;
It’s understood
He knows his craft.
He quick takes aim
Let’s fly his arrow
Which punches deep
Deep in my marrow,
Crushing feathers
Wing and bone,
So far below
He hears not my moan
Now flight like life
Is all in vain
My blood is
Dripping
With the rain
I rock upon my tiny perch
I who mocked the heavy earth
I topple from my sacred limb
The light turns grey
I start to spin
To the earth
I fall, I thud,
My scarlet feathers mixed with mud