All of the young bucks
know their place and wait
for business to pick up—

for the boss to be gone
with work of his own
calling him away, far

enough that he won’t know
what they’re up to.
They spar a little, rattle

thin horns, bide their time
in the thick of November—
like it’s always been.


4 responses to “IN THE SYCAMORES

  1. I appreciate the pictures you paint with words…


  2. Great shots of the bucks and the bee, John! Really good poems, too! Fall is such a wonderful time of year, the green and the gold. Happy Thanksgiving to all on Dry Creek.


    • Thanks, Laurie. Yes, a little cool weather and moisture and the wild is afoot amid spectacular color — our beginning to a grass season. Have a Happy Thanksgiving 🙂


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