Monday, February 26, 2007

Stopping By Woods


A poet could say many things

About a white wood;

I can only say

That I brought my heart here

And stepped mildly aside


There is a wound that only

A white wood understands,

With its eternal memory

Of bark and leaf and forest floor

Of the man and his dog

Who are back again,

Standing in the same place

But finding it new


2 comments:

Scott said...

Being in the South on business, short-sleeved and coat shorn, I haven't missed the snow...until now.

Rachael King said...

I can't believe you read my blog! And commented, to boot. :) I guess you're using the time I normally take up.

See you Friday.