Poetry Anthology

How far I’ve come, I do not know,

The going here is steep and slow

Up rocky paths that wind and twist

On chilly hills where maples grow

Where clouds condense from mountain mist

I find a place the sunlight kissed

A hidden farm swims into sight

Belonging to some quietist

The cart unhitched to pass the night

My little horse thinks us quite right

To sit and let our senses sing

At maple trees in evening light

Ignited by the fall’s cold sting

Their frosty leaves are glistening

And redder than a flower in spring

And redder than a flower in spring