Sonnet etched in bark

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It’s rugged, the trunk of this grand tree
Taller than which I’ve yet to see

And down below, an oval clearing
That could have sported a fairy ring

Holding fort in a mid air nest
A sprightly squirrel tries hard to rest

While this tree bears, a lovers mark,
Multiple sonnets thus etched in bark

Strange times of self incarceration, these,
For the modern humans, habilis

Quaint notions of holding a hand
Do digital natives quite understand?

But the breath of Spring is a grand affair
For those  alive, love’s in the air

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