Thursday, August 19, 2004


Don't you hear them?
Can't you feel the tug?
Won't you listen?
Must you stay?

It is the rain
Clogging on a tin roof.
Pitty-pattin' in the dust
Tappin' out the tune.

Or maybe the wind
Chucklin' down the chimbley.
Glad handin' the pines
Good natured in its callin'.

Perhaps it's the memory
of a pretty red-haired gal.
Her smile still a callin'
Eyes still hauntin'.

Listen to the call,
Hear the mountains sing.
Hallowed is their harmony
Sacred is their song.

Breath in deep, cousin
Smell the hint of sassafras.
Catch a wiff of honeysuckle
Teasin' gently, "come".

Wednesday, August 18, 2004

Hard Maple

The wind whispers
A secret joke
Caught up
By the crabapple
The leaves titter
As they laugh.

The solid maple
Hardly stirs
Barely a chuckle
Maybe just too busy
Perhaps so very deep
To mind frivolities.