Angus The King, poetry written by Linda Imbler at

Angus The King

Angus The King

written by: Linda Imbler



Baby Angus, Woodland Prince
born in rising Sun’s golden light
where symphonic crickets
do live
and faeries
watch and the faeries do gleam
they see his day begin
as dew newly formed
lies atop emerald grass
neighboring side-by-side the peaceful
rivers that bear the
flow of water
and the flow of his life, coaxing
him to learn to stand
and coaxing him to learn
to walk, for how else
will his small hand begin
to brush the azure sky
which holds within its
breast the very birds
and the clouds and the bright moon?

Woodland Prince
may rill and stream and brook and beak
keep you from all harm.



Young Childe Angus, Woodland Prince
growing while Summer’s night concerts
of crickets fill the air
with song
and faeries
hear and the faeries do sing
they see him walk under
white oaks and rusty
red alders where nests of birds flock
and as he matures he feels the new
bark on new trees and
he wanders far
and wide to discover jungle
green slopes near sapphire
streams feeding conifers
and ash, for how else to
learn to extend his hand
to present lavender
orchids as he asks
his Princess for the
first dance at the high school prom?

Woodland Prince
may trunks and bark and leaf and branch
guide your head and heart.



Master Angus, Woodland King
the harvest moon has risen now
as the summer has slipped
and faeries
sigh and the faeries do sough
as timber-wolf Autumn
sky beckons him to
his place upon the hammock
strung between two lichen covered trees
his queen by his side
and his children
grown having learned from him that the
whitetail deer and the
brown chipmunk coexist
in peace, for how else
would they believe there is
a place for each life and
a use for each life
whether beetle or
ant or hawk, bear, or striped skunk?

Woodland King
May your continued example
help all love mankind.



Grand-Pére Angus, Woodland King
walks in weaker Winter sunlight
yet recalls Summer sun’s
bright beam
and faeries
lift and the faeries do speak
as the river having
channeled to its end
and the trees having reached their
final height and the fox with thickened
fur and hidden stars
emerge to guide
him beyond the purple twilight
to where he may rest
away from the path long
traveled, for how else
will he feel the sense of
peace for how things have gone
his memory with
no regrets knowing
all is well within his realm?

Woodland King
may your eyes rise to show you the
offerings of God.

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