Afternoon poem, April 17, 2017

I ran beneath the fresh leaves in summer

Under the trees left on the hillside, acres left alone

In places there were lines of daffodils

Marking the lines of vanished lawns

Where houses had once stood

Fifty years before

 

Those people kept pigs and cows

And grew their own food

On the far edge of my forest

(I only went that far once)

There was a hen house and chickens and ducks

 

In the forest there were giant oaks here and there

That had been spared in the last cutting

They might have marked an old property line

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