Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

woodsy soil like dark Belgian chocolate
you can taste the air if you wag your tongue a little,
marsh plants dwarf under skyscraper oaks, and I
am a tiny traveling scribe with a backpack and a stick

goslings swim with mom and dad
a black and white dog chases a yellow tennis ball
tossed in the water, in the creek by the old mill's ruins,
thousands have worked and played on fair hill

I plunge my walking stick
into the same ground as settlers drove fence posts
and dug root cellars
under the same sun and shine of the moon

and maybe a little moonshine
was distilled with the fresh water
of the Big Elk Creek
that floated rafts and birch canoes

and maybe the folks sat around their fires
sipping that liquor thankfully
for all the bounty set down
on long maple tables fashioned with calloused hands

Awesome pastoral poem! Saw, I really enjoyed this one. Reminds me of a creek and pond near us.
Have you ever thought of submitting any of these poems to the print media?

beautiful

thanx gents...appreciate the kind words...

Nicely done...a mood spell piece worthy of a re-read or two.