King Again

I am a king again;
Sitting on my rotted throne I listen,
as forest prophets with scarred wooden
faces whisper secrets of life;
Their wrinkled rough hides crack,
as their massive bodies sway in the wind;
Mother Earth chuckles as I tickle her
belly with my finger,
so sprouts a flower intricate in detail,
red and yellow with jagged black stripes,
and a green body to make it fancy;
Mother Earth smiles;
A gracious fourleg offers me a burrow of nuts,
while flocks of finches inspect the newly laid gift;
The sky is swirling as clouds abroad mix and shift,
taking dreamy shape;
A sunbeam, rosy and humorous,
signals a beam, engulfing me in a cozy blanket of warmth;
I belong here,
I am a king again;

by T. D., Portland, ME