by Ethel Mortenson Davis
The rain yields
to the drying wind,
trilliums ceasing,
forget-me-nots thriving,
the dogs loving
the walk in the morning rain.
The afternoon sun
puts the old dog to sleep.
Tomorrow
the flickering light
will lock
the fawn in hiding
in the meadow grasses
in the deep forest.
fourwindowspress 
I have enjoyed re-reading and thinking about this one Ethel. I was immediately drawn in by the opening lines with their understated charm and by the sound of the words : yields/ trillium/ ceasing contrasted with drying/ thriving. I liked the balance there and in the second stanza (although here I was looking for ‘sleeping’ as a counterpoint to ‘loving’). And the final stanza had me wondering about that fawn: had it been there all along, this morning, unremarked? Had it been sought today but not found? Lovely! The whole poem has the delicacy of a water colour.
How well you conjure up nature, Ethel.