This morning under cirrus skies
We headed north to Beaver Brook;
We dropped below the giant pines
And searched the wooded nook.
We padded down the forest path
Beneath those towering stately trees;
Unbroken silence met our ears—
The stillness of a frieze.
Then suddenly, there in the wood,
Appearing through a break of brush,
The regiment in scarlet stood
Enshrouded by the hush.
The mossy bank had formed the frame
Of redcoats mustered in the stream,
While darting damsels, undistressed,
Displayed their turquoise sheen.
A still-life frozen in the glen,
A masterwork now on display
For any curious passerby
Who traipsed this August day.
“Cardinal Flowers”©Brian T. Maurer