A Gentle Wave

A beaded dragonfly's wayward hovering
Doesn't appear to be as much fun
As taming the moon's continual minions
In broad daylight; the sun snickers

A land where the days and nights are long
Every dish is homemade
Private gazebos are infiltrated and overthrown
Humans sound like unmuzzled mutts; pedigrees disappear

As I write sheltered, enjoying the lofty breeze
In foreign script the NSA couldn't decipher
The insects chirp freely as the blackbird flocks buzz
Gossiping about their anticipated meal

Yes, you may find me here
With a foot on the bench and a foot on the ground
Observing with titillation of the senses
In a gem so neatly tucked away

I'm in a land, where the trees are tall
And some could recall, when they were planted
My writing whimsy soiling a summer day
In Wauconda.