Sitting here hell-bound to write
a free verse poem late at night
free enough to hold some rhyme
and not be thought to be a.......sin

So I put my pen to pad
to convey a woodland walk
through spring woods of new light green
as though conversing with a friend
unrhymed as a soaring hawk

At sunrise all the world was still
only of motion caused by wind
for it IS springtime along this rill
so mating sounds and flittings fill the land
in a random symphony and waltz
seldom seen in crowded city
more the pity

I ascend a middling hill
overlooking a stream's bend
and flush a sleeping whippoorwill
who flies away with wide tail fanned
then dips into brush as short flight halts
near a bloomed persimmon tree
all seen by me

Now I walk in cooling shade
as the wind begins to stir
and shake pollen from the laden trees
like yellow flour through a sifter

At last comes that old logging road
(well actually I come to it)
whose path I oh so often follow
until it ends at a steep hollow
after traversing both forest and glade

The wind now builds to being fresh
no quivering limbs as in winter
instead leaf laden limbs toss
and sway and even....thresh
way out here in heart of hinter

Twixt blowing wind and mid-day sun
the birds and bugs turn silent now
as I follow an old fence line
which leads back toward the road
where I parked my old red truck
my first steps toward being homeward bound
adieu to the bucks' running ground