Forward lies a stream of stones
Ascending the wooded hill
Venture there I go alone
My ranging thoughts not still
A barren branch points the way
Across the misted field in blue
Autumn grasses, no hint of May,
Sway in a pensive, deliberate mood
Culling thoughts to find the one
That’s thrown me in dismay
I let the breath of forests come
To this rough and jagged way
Perhaps it was my reproachful tone
Or an angered word in haste
I let my feet pour to the stones
These feelings that rub and grate
With each step passed grass and weed
On this late September eve
Burdens lift and I am freed
With a heart that’s now at ease
Poetry and Verse 