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Reflection

Photograph by Hertfordshire Walker processed with BeFunky

Who is on that footpath now
Its green sweet grass pressed low
The wooden gate embraced by thorn
Where bramble, thistle grow

Does a faded print remain
From where I passed that way
A faint impression in the hedge
Where travel-worn I lay

Does the branch I snapped still lie
Severed, jagged, torn
Or has time smoothed the broken limb
The splinters weather-worn

Has the songbird stretched its wings
To venture as did I
Does the oak tree swell the earth
To fill the cloudless sky

Is the stone I turned still wet
The grass blades sun-starved white
A feather lying on the path
A wood dove took to flight


January 18, 1978


Poem written by a homesick young man days before returning to England after six years away. © Hertfordshire Walker


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