A Bouquet of Pheasants by Joan Currie

In verdant glades where pine woods dense did rise,
Beneath a canopy of emerald hue,
There dwelt the pheasants, nye with watchful eyes,
Their clucking whispers soft as morning dew.

Among the shadows, hidden from my gaze,
Their presence marked by crimson, fleeting bright,
Elusive specters in the sun’s faint blaze,
They danced like phantoms in the fading light.

A childhood spent in backyard’s wistful play,
I lingered near the forest’s secret veil,
With heart that yearned for just a special day,
When pheasants bold would cross my playful trail.

Though glimpsed but rarely, they forever stay,
In dreams and echoes of my long-gone youth,
Those pheasants, shy, in twilight’s soft array,
A symbol of a time of joy and truth.

Whenever I see an image of a pheasant, I can’t help but smile! It takes me back to the landscape of my youth where I was so happy playing in the woodlands near my home.