A Hallowe’en sonnet …
In Fall tarantulas walk slowly on
The acorn scattered ground beneath the oaks.
The thirsty deer eat buckeye bark at dawn.
They do not dare to drink where shadow cloaks
The hidden pools along the drying creek.
They smell the soft and shallow breath of pale
Gold lions, crouching silent, there to seek
A kill beside the narrow creekside trail.
The leaves of poison oak turn red and whirl
In drifts along the paths like burning snow.
Beside their dens the foxes stand and curl
Their whiskers back as wind begins to blow.
Tarantulas turn acorns with their feet,
Big spiders slowly walking in the heat.