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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I sit on a familiar ledge-rock Perched above the timber- a sentry standing guard Watching over the woods and my home. I say woods. Truly it’s Eighty acres of scrubby, crimson brush Straggly evergreen trees Oaks with golden coats Limestone glades that drop into Deep gullies. Once this was part of the deeply timbered Ozark hills, Sparsely populated with a few rugged families Of Scotch-Irish descent Homesteaders from the Appalachian south Things have changed this landscape. From the crest of my hill, I see The lake below, in full view- Miles of lovely blue and white water, Stirred by a gentle breeze, And the cove’s shore- my cove My home- A fishing resort: six cabins, dock, pool Half hidden by a thicket of glorious colors. Too soon the leaves will fade and fall. Bits of the buildings appear in the Cracks between the cedars and oaks. The Redbud and Dogwood, that in Spring Checker the slopes in pink and white, today Blend reddish-brown leaves with Autumn wildflowers peppered across the hillsides: Yellow Goldenrod, aromatic Aster’s blue hues, and tall standing Ironweed’s vivid Purple and magenta flowers. Willowleaf Sunflowers bloom until frost. Countless numbers of bees and butterflies Make a final run at the daisy-like Sneezeweed, before The cold rains of November chase them to Warmer places. At the base of this steep slope, this rough, rock-strewn land, Grassy green patches are held in place by several Rocked-up retaining walls, Built by my father to separate the wilderness from My home. The sun travels across the sky into my face. The slight breeze intensifies. I take a last look at it all before heading home. Taken altogether, joy fills my soul. Original Text©? 1993 Michelle Waters This poem©? 2026 Michelle Waters
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