The Orchestra hidden in the meadow

Wooden armchair squeaks at the brink of dusk

A Mother feeds a child on the porch, straight from a flask

***

On the wall, dances the shadow cast by the candlelight

Gentle breeze tempts the curtains into the night

***

There grasshoppers played, and there crickets sang,

Sopranos, baritones, fiddles, and drums

***

Moon shines down on the orchestra at the blade of the grass

The air tastes of evening dew and the sound of the brass

***

Owl stretched out its wings, and silver sparks lit up the sky

The whole field danced - Worms, snails, spiders, and fireflies

***

Only the six-legged dancers do not agree with the band

Where are those friendly swingsteps of the poppy field ants?

***

Are they mad at the centipede for stepping on toes

Or that the caterpillar ate the last stem of the rose

***

The moth whirls its wings toward the light in the far

As if it felt what darkness hid beneath the stars

***

In the poppy fields on the hill, mounting their battle beetles

Fire ants storm from their home in the brown pine needles

***

Sharpening their feelers, tightening three pairs of boots

The flutist blew the first air into the silver war flute

***

The harmony in the field has a sudden new beat

As from the hill rolls a horde of tiny red feet

***

Ants draw sharp stingers, under the watch of the Crow

And those who shared many evenings are today’s foes

***

What has no wings has now no time to hide

The music of the night has faded and died

***

The moth finally settles at the light where it flew

“A peaceful night”, Mother smiled, if only she knew