Forest Poem

Finding soft ground in my spirit upon which to land

Photo by Thomas Devassy from Pexels

Were I to wander, say, to a country stream,
wade in, water curled and cool about my ankles,
then bend my tired knees, bring my fingertips low,
to feel the gentle song of the current,
would that melody — an angel’s weeping, a fairy’s aria —
sweep straight through me to be lost again to the deaf forest,
or might it, perhaps, find soft ground in my spirit…