jam on wheat
sticky tiny fingers
checkered picnic blanket
pale green marks
collect upon knees
ruined Sunday’s best
wooded journey opens
cool clearings comfort
murky forests enclose
the fallen oak
a prone giant
still ever resilient
humid afternoons serve
as the onions cut
making angels to cry
their fat tears
pelt your soft head
drip off your chin
Sophisticating the Rudimentary 
What’d you think of that?