Dappled Light (with poem)
The time of day when the sun is high
And it's so hot, the birds don't sing
When there isn't a cloud left in the sky
That's when the pranks of trees begin.
Ever so slyly, the trunks and leaves
Throw their black shadows on the ground
Which hustle and flit like little thieves
And push the flecks of light around.
Thus opens the game of dark and light
In which the trees their leisure spend
But at the arrival of the night
Their topsy-turvy antics end.
(c) 2020, Claudia G. Kukulka
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