A Poem that doesn’t rhyme.

If Chuck Roast Wasn’t the Handsome Devil of a Writer He is. . .

He would be. . .

The Ranger

He slow walks, soft, light leaves from the trees have fallen: Lying dormant, dead

He makes no noise, steps Carefully placed, leave’s cushion- No animals rouse

He smells the forest, compost, on the ground, new life- soon, spring births, new sounds

The forest, alive New leaves on trees, canopy- Protects the small ones

Man in green, blends in, Like leaves, protects the Mother: Her precious resource

Wind, ruffles the new leaves, branches sway, cool wind, shade- Animals stop, stare

Man stops, smiles, silent, Resolute in his duty- No harm shall befall

His realm, his life’s work, The forest, streams, lakes, Mother: All of her, preserve

Man, in uniform Stands silently on the ridge: Looks over his charge

Today, all is well. Tomorrow, the Ranger starts: Again, he will care

Where others do not, he will, to preserve Mother- It is his calling

Thanks to Sherry McGuinn for the tag. You made me create.

Chuck Roast is a humorist (“humourist” for those of you who like the “incorrect” spelling)for the publication Illumination, a Top Writer in Satire, and owner/editor/writer of his own Publication, Dad-Bods, which is currently sitting idle while he develops his social media skills and gains more exposure through manipulation of said social media. Here are the links to his accounts, LinkedIn, Twitter. Comments are always appreciated. Thanks for reading. Write On!