Foggy Morning Rising
Foggy morning rising, seen from below
Gone by noon above New River’s flow,
Which, I believe, is hardly surprising
Seen from below, foggy morning rising.
Like smoking leaves, swirling skyward
On the water the geese are plundered,
As all too often the forest of its trees
Swirling skyward, like smoking leaves.
A mountain boy, fishing pole in hand
In early morning he is likely to stand
By the New River, there is no greater joy
Fishing pole in hand, a mountain boy.
When the sun comes up, a campfire built
Warming hands with his long pole a-tilt
From his canteen of hot coffee, he’ll sup
A campfire built when the sun comes up.
Written August 3, 2022
[Swap Quatrain]
Copyright © L Milton Hankins | Year Posted 2022
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