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Old Sentinel
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
Quietly, he watched
With clear, beady eye
Toward snow-freckled landscape,
Ghostly, grey sky.
Frigid wind knifed
Into feathery bone.
Old Canadian Goose
Now completely alone.
Southern fly-ways beckoned
With their annual ring.
Members of his flock
Disappeared on strong wing.
Too old and weak,
No strength left to fly.
Instinct forbade him
To even try.
He honked farewell tiredly
With his remaining might,
As last departing stragglers
Disappeared from sight.
Primary flight feathers,
Ragged, unpreened —
No protection from freezing wind,
Unchecked, unscreened.
Soon white snow
Would blanket the land,
Bringing silent death
To hapless animal and man.
From gosling to maturity,
Years long since gone,
He would die where he hatched
On this small lake he knew as home.
The Path
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
A son of the dirt since my birth,
I look back without rancor or mirth,
And — I remember.
Polished words did not pass my lips,
Nor fine clothes touch my fingertips,
And — I remember.
Without inheritance in the land,
Through struggles and hunger, I grew into a man,
And — I remember.
Beaten but never bowed,
In the School of Hard Knocks I was endowed,
And — I remember.
Wealth and power were never my goal.
I wanted water for thirst, food for my soul,
And — it happened.
No longer hungry or thirsty, I’m fed and gird.
I’m finding the answers, written in the Word,
And — I won’t forget.
I’ve found the path that’ll take me home,
And I’ll go in peace, remembering,
As I say, “Shalom!”
Wapiti
This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:
I’ve climbed snow-capped mountains,
Searched lush valleys below.
I’ve trekked through high aspen meadows,
Drinking where hidden streams flow.
I’ve climbed over lofty crags
And walked through wildflower meadows where you roam.
I’ve smelled spruce-laden air
In the untamed beauty you trod and know as home.
I’ve searched when hot and thirsty,
Muscles crying out in pain.
I’ve hunted while wet and hungry
Against your allies, snow and rain.
When matching wits, my hunter’s tricks
Have all seemed to fail,
Yet your courage and strength never falter
As nature helps you prevail.
Each year, aspen trees
Begin wearing coats of red and gold,
When campfires flicker in the mountains
Against night air, crispy cold.
My ears strain to catch a bugle call,
Which splits the clean, clear air.
The mighty stag, Wapiti,
Is moving in his lair.
Yes, I’ll answer his ringing challenge,
For not to respond would cause me pain.
It’s time to once more play hide-and-seek
On his terms, in his terrain.
Brotherhood
This poem is from Autumn Leaves:
I’ll never be a big star, shining on millions where they roam,
But I can be a small candlelight in the darkness,
Helping to guide one solitary figure home.
This is the idea behind why I write, for there is always some good idea that is transmitted. Enjoy!
wfosterwelborn 