Top bunk, pen in hand,
Leaves outside my window
Stirred by the wind,
Nature, my journal.
Walks in solitude;
People talking in verse.
Walks with words
And songs written in a pasture.
Stories with sad endings;
Poems with rhyme; people talking in verse,
Dialogues with images of life fragments,
Searching for the meter – and my place.
Moments away from service,
A return to poems of trees.
Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard