To make some sense of this fall day

To ken what draws me here to stay

Within this woodlot far away

From life’s bustle and cacophony 

Yet sound is here in vast array 

Creaking branch sighing boughs whose fey 

Chants grand as Gregorian may

Cause parchment leaves for squirrels drey

To rustle on their precocious way

Across a meadow rimed  fresh gay

Formed by last night’s cloudless sky

A log my seat to cast my eye

And mind bereft of what to say

To celebrate well this fine fall day