I wrote another poem. I went from zero to two in a couple of weeks, which isn’t a bad speed as far as poems go.
I was writing a letter to my friend and told her I didn’t have words to describe my campground. Then, as is my way, I fired off some words to describe my campground. I contemplated the words and decided they were quite poetic. So I added some words to the original words, then played with the order and finally turned it all into a poem.
I think of it as a poem that resembles an impressionist painting.
Trees tower green.
Campfire smoke tickles nose.
Surrounded by songs of invisible birds.
Occasional mosquito buzzes and bites.
No noise of cars.
Sinking sun illuminates vibrant, verdant meadow.
Gentlest breeze whispers through leaves.
Sky high above crowns, blue one step from grey.
Temperature slowly dips.
Squirrel scampers on the outskirts.