Each morning on my
walk
a poem sprouts
similar to the tender green beginnings of the
similar to the tender green beginnings of the
now golden
wild oat
that borders my path
Each morning
fresh and new prints wander this
path I walk
delicate
and crisp in the morning air
Each morning
at first sight
a thrill of delight is
a thrill of delight is
born in my belly
seeing their circuitous wending
seeing their circuitous wending
tuft in
and out of my
stiff
straight
path
Each morning
a contrast
so stark, so clear
an
invitation
to something small
and anything but straight
--Kristen G., Adult