Getting into the woods is easy-- Even in a park you leave the path
Only a moment--turned around-- Everything is almost right--
That beech was an oak-- The creek gone underground for a spell
Three notes sounding smooth rocks Quartz breaking open in the hand--
In the thicket wait Burrs, cuts, and ticks
Up the stony hill Trampled ferns and asthma
Down the gully broken logs Or is it legs?
Well. Nothing for it But to get on with it.
This time you're on your own.
(Mike Snider, a computer programmer, with the heart and soul of a poet and musician. He scribbles with passion at his poetry blog Mike Snider on Poetry. He also plays in the band the Baker Boys in his home state of Maryland. This is Mike's first poem on DaRK PaRTY.)