Big Spans

Quailing

with a slim whim—

the poplars, Contrary

to its immortals

thick with frond

blocking big wind.

Poplar flora frolic

with a dainty summon

of simplicity,

a cat bird prat: I want

to bush-guard,

bound quondam

or twofold my pawn

on rooks' flank.

Will any man living

pass intrinsic roots

of origins joy, as if giving

up—passing away

of natural prompts

is a prompt of the past.

Sometimes I like to write with constraint. Not so much in rhyme or meter but in this case I wrote without using the letter "e" in the poem.