The Old Elf Poetwaits At The River's Edge Poem by Eve Roper

I sit at the end of the wooden pier near the river's edge,

my feet splashing the blue mirrored hedge

watching the swirls on the depthless water.

In my hand a wild spray of dandelions, tiger lilies, bearberries

and parchment. Cool current veers unhindered away from the ledge

by nature's land; behind the trees where elves, pixies, and fairies

dwell upon green blade of the herbal sweet sedge.

Dip in freckle orange tiger lily crinkle hats and veg

flitting around from tree to tree, peer beautiful sensual pixies.

In the calm melody of dance all trim in fluff and buff fairies

in their yellow dandelion bellow skirts and soft chicks fledge.

The old Elf poet sings and reaches for parchment and ink bearberry bushes.

In and out the bees, butterflies, and hummingbird flutter

to savor the nectar from the chalice of fragrance of flowers.

The brilliant sunshine finds its way behind the trees and shudders.

Sleepy, I rose and walked home to the river's edge.


Copyright © Eve Roper 5/15/2018