hermithouse.htm

Down along the woody old road I strode,

In this misty spring morning I must bode.

With rubber boots on and walking stick in hand,

I wandered 'bout the mossy vine maple land.

Where blooms of bleeding heart are out,

There among the ferns where the hardwoods sprout.

Now, I hear the thrush singing songs of spring,

He's hidden in the mint not taking wing.

Beside the cabin lies a lovely laurel bog,

There hops an escape of a forest dwelling frog.

How enchanting this day be I think,

Just to marvel at nature's anewed wink.

When in the evening the day hath spent,

I wander back along the old road now half bent.

And in the still pouring rain, I thought,

"what silence beauty this walk has brought."

It's always amazing to me among the laural nature hath spade,

Lush tangles within its web herein the vine maple glade . . .

KJM