The man wore sunglasses and sat
In leafy bower without a hat
In sun; the storm was yet to come
The plants by spiders overrun.
A bumble bee came buzzing past
Intent upon his pollen task
Tomatoes on the vine now swell
A goodly harvest, I can tell.
I read out loud a poem or two
Grieving is so hard to do
A loss so final, so unfair
Can cause the strongest to despair.
The power of words, a fatal thrust
His hardened shell turned into dust
Emotion caught him by surprise
He was glad I could not see his eyes …
(c) Poet in the woods 2014