Raymond A. Foss Poems

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Driving in New England on these fall days
with brown oak leaves on the ground of the forests,
I keep looking to the woods, hoping, wanting,
pining for a glimpse of deer out under the power lines,
in amongst the rock outcroppings,
the cleared belt beyond the shoulders,
the wilder places still within sight of the interstate
in the pines, the oaks, the maples
near enough to see but safe from the hunters,
those who seek them for sport,
wanting to see them to remind me
of their beauty in their environment
their natural setting, out in the woods,
the fields at dusk, the meadows at dawn,
with space marked by their bedding
when I’m not out there myself
to find them as an equal
out in the woods with them

December 3, 2006 21:22

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