THE WOODPECKER.
 
Hark,
Now,
The Woodpecker,
Is all of a  drill,
Unseen,
High in the bark,
Of this our brave new morning,
 
Hark,
Does the canopy sway?
Green,
In the breezes blown,
Of this our new morning.
 
And the Sun does rise,
Telling its own season story,
Of People ‘n’ Places,
Caught in the canopy,
Green,
Of our friend,
My friend,
The Woodpecker,
 
Left,
Once,
To drill,
That Tree,
The Tree,
Now marred,
For me,
Stained in blood,
Once,
Of Adam’s particular blood.