269. Wild 

The sirens call of the wild is a lustful, alluring sound that I’ve grown quite accustomed to over the years. It echoes through dense forestry, floats soothingly over open plains and splashes quietly with every wave that hits the beach shore. I wrote this micropoem about the call of the wild. 

Come play, she beckons, 

Hidden troves,

Windswept wilderness,

Sunset glow,

Do you know what becomes of,

A soul bereft of simple soil?

It cannot root, much like the tree,

In mother natures womb. 

(Photo – Eli Woodbine, Toronto, 2016) 


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