~ In Vine Maple Glade ~
Hermit House - Hazel, Wa. © Ken James McLeod
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 . . .
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