Solid

A true comforter,
with warm embracing shoulder,
the oak is a friend.

All the world’s a stage

Hop jump and step up,

shoulder to shoulder we move—

as dancers, soldiers.

Shedding vanity,
marking the passing of time—
winter skeletons.

Photo bug sees all,
seizes opportunity—
spider in waiting

At first light of dark,
as waning sun creeping low,
come the moon chasers.

Photo: My friend, Janet Martin, who blogs as Wandering Feet.