In Vine Maple Glade
~ From The Forest ~

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 into the mossy vine maple land.
 
Where blooms of bleeding heart are about,
   There among the ferns where hardwoods sprout.
  Now, I hear the thrush singing songs of spring,
    He's hidden in the mint not taking wing.
 
 There beside me near the lovely laurel bog,
 Hops an escape of a forest dwelling frog
 How enchanting this day be I think,
   Just to marvel at nature's new birth or renewed wink.
 
 When in the evening the day hath spent,
   I wander back along the old road now half bent.
 It's always amazing to me, to walk among that which hath been spade,
         Like that of lush tangle in the web,  herein vine maple glade . . .
      

  As I neared the truck still in the pouring rain, I thought, "what a
beautiful day this has been."  In the truck, off came my soaked clothes, and 
the radio played jazz, yes jazz, and on and on it played . . . 

KJM

(McPilchuck)

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