Four Oaken walls with four stout logs,

Gumboots on the porch,

The scent of sourdough, fresh-baked,

Wafting from the rustic storefront

Picturesque in simplicity

Beneath a periwinkle sky spread thin

Across the trees

Where deep within the forest

A roving engine rumbles

Spouting a thick cloud of smog

Then sputters silent pulling

A jeep to a rumbling stop

‘Neath a sycamore taller than a

Skyscraper, emerged a lone

Forest Ranger.

His eyes are sharp,

Sharper than a needle,

As he goes about his beat

And yet his demeanor softens

When the wooden porch is beneath his feet

For just inside waits Miriam the Baker

And she always makes him a sweet treat.