the old man’s stock take

he called it
taking stock

in the sun

in the shade

beneath the veranda awning
when It rained

considering the garden
and the green grass

counting the bees

white butterflies

bugs rising
on transparent wings
with the sun
shining through

a tiny halo of light
around each

the wind at play
through washing
hung to dry

and of course
the swaying of his trees

his beloved trees
in full summer leaf
with a rich depth
of green
to show

taking stock
he called

to me
it appeared
he was sleeping

© Frank Prem, 2017

November 2017 Poem #32: an elegance of swan

6 thoughts on “the old man’s stock take

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