Wayne Sapp: A Cardinal at the Feeder

Wayne Sapp has 61 years of life and was born and raised in Wyanet, Ill. He resides outside Maysville, Ia., with his wife Cathy, dogs Rufus and Duke, and cat Sampson. He retired as career soldier in 2002, and has been writing for at least 40 years. Wayne tricks the reader in a subtle use of rhyme. Yet, he is a master of word choice for concision in his poetry.

A Cardinal at the Feeder

The brittle stems of Queen Ann’s Lace
reduced to barren, brittle bone,
a hoarfrost Ermine coat embrace;
impaled in soil that turned to stone.

The flowers became wicker cups;
wear bowler hats of purest white,
while snowflakes that they interrupt
await the wind; resume their flight.

A Junco in the prairie grass,
drab colors blending, stems and snow
his flitting business come to pass
without a glimpse of style, or show.

White crystal mist, the morning still,
a cold and colorless display;
and fence posts marching up the hill
like soldiers, slowly fade away.

This day in its entirety
constructed thus to fit my mood
cabin bound and winter weary,
must you in my lament intrude?

From deep within a Cedar tree
in blazing red from cap to tail,
you interrupt my woe-is-me;
assure my pensive mood will fail.