I no longer see the giant tree
Still, the kapre, now homeless,
Makes me sleepless tonight
Or is it the tikbalang
With his fearsome snort?
This is the window from where
Rapunzel hangs loose her braid
At the witch’s command
Alas, in my room
Rests no Sleeping Beauty
Who may with a kiss awake
Out there in the now crowded yard
I again watch the medieval knights
Pleasing ladies and lords
With the thrusts of lances and swords
An arrow whizzes into the air
It must be from Henry
Who knows not where it falls
Just sing to me, Sire,
The Song of Hiawatha
As I lay on the grass
While The Little Prince
Smiles from the stars above
And drops a piece of cloud
For this drifty, moping child
Redmoon
29 April 2023
(Redmoon of Bukidnon likes to describe himself as a trying hard poet)
