You wouldn’t know
Each kissing bough
Avoids by hair’s-breadth’s swing;
Re-swing.
Delicious how
Obtaining now
Combed-straightness
Under branchèd reach;
My height-blessed friend
Enters the arboreal arch –
Now christened such by
Traipsing squirr’ls
Sent scurrying.
He stands and smiles;
Opens the whiles,
Whene’er he walks the path.
©2020 Chelsea Owens
Photo by Isham Krb on Unsplash
Acrostically cobbled together for Di of Pensitivity’s Three Things Challenge.
Chel Owens 
Very clever. Thank you so much for joining in.
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I finally did! 🙂
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Definitely a big smile whenever i walk the path!!
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I need more path-walking.
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How?
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No, ‘How’ was the last word. 😉
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I would have figured it out eventually, but it might have taken me all year.
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😀 I always miss things like this.
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Haha.
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Your rather good at this poetry lark. x
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Thanks!
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Always love the 19th century feel of your fancy poems.
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You are moste complimentary.
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This is a lovely poem, Chelsea.
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Thank you. 🙂
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