To Home | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Hudson Valley; Chronogram
Pin It
Favorite

To Home 

Near the house on the farm,
the thistle grows thick
and free.

Each time I go to step
past the rocky ledge,
I can’t.

This is where the old oak,
like a crippled hand,
grows tall.

Through airy spring, the blood
of tired ones runs
like dust.

I do not step forward,
however sweet berries
grow among the Dead Thorn.

I do not step forward,
however possessed the
wind sings in thistledown.

I do not stir a thing
because this is where
the old oak

stands.

Tags: , , ,

Speaking of...

Pin It
Favorite

Comments

Subscribe to this thread:

Add a comment

Readers also liked…

Hudson Valley Events

submit event

Common Ground

Oct. 6-Nov. 13 — A photography exhibition by Ellen Lynch. The exhibit pairs separate photographs of...

View all of today's events

Latest in Poetry

Hudson Valley Tweets