Ceramic in the woods
My walk is through the thick woods,
on the same trail trodden for ages,
A deer’s footprint left marks of its hoof,
either on a run or a leisurely sojourn.
A small pond hidden by overgrowth lies ahead,
Wild ducks splattering their feathers look out,
On the mark, to fly away they seem ready,
I turn at a safer distance; the alpha’s neck is stout.
A plate and fork are abandoned,
the ceramic china so out of place,
a silver fork lies forlornly cold,
there ahead lie strewn plastics and debris.
I didn’t put the deer here,
Nor the ceramic plate there,
I can live in harmony with nature,as the fork to kitchen.