I walked this path sometime before,
but when? I'm at a loss.
the boggy scent and earthy sound
as feet thread bearded moss.
this lakeside shore, iron grey;
it's rocks guide path and eye,
ever up this morning glen
where my homeland meets the sky.
I've seen it frozen, this mountain lake
wasted pines as far as I could see.
this path half muted in the wind,
blowing down ‘cross shattered scree.
I sat beside a fallen limb,
this mist moist softened day.
the damp, it dripped from the emerald branch
as I rose and went on my way...
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 5:07 PM UTC
I walked this path sometime before,
but when? I'm at a loss.
the boggy scent and earthy sound
as feet thread bearded moss.
this lakeside shore, iron grey;
it's rocks guide path and eye,
ever up this morning glen
where my homeland meets the sky.
I've seen it frozen, this mountain lake
wasted pines as far as I could see.
this path half muted in the wind,
blowing down ‘cross shattered scree.
I sat beside a fallen limb,
this mist moist softened day.
the damp, it dripped from the emerald branch
as I rose and went on my way...
"a poem begins with a lump in the throat" Robert Frost
