I hear him
Making holes again
Hollow places in dead trees
He’s very old, you know
Prehistoric!
Pterodactyl-like, I think
With his red crest
bobbing up and down
He seems very proud
Cocky, I’d say
His drilling stops
Oh, I hear him
Odd cuk wucka sounds
She makes him wait
I know he’s listening for her
Finally she returns his call
His pecking resumes
Strange fellow–
that pileated woodpecker
Feasting on ants and beetles
Deep in the old forest
where there is plenty of dead wood
The hollow tree is his drum, you know
He plays a driving beat
Latin rock, I think
He’s ancient, you know
I hope I see him
Andrew over at Past Tense reminded me of this old poem.
Poetic Alchemist 