My Wood in Maine

I have so far only posted my free verse poetry, so I thought this time I would publish a poem in a more regular style (after all, with a name like Serendipity, this blog should be less predictable!).  Here is an original poem I wrote last year with a particularly beloved stretch of Maine woodlands in mind.  The meter is iambic pentameter, and it roughly alternates rhyming and unrhyming lines.


My Wood in Maine

Meandering in a certain wood, alone,
There lies a certain secret age-old trail,
On both sides flanked by mossy trees and stones,
To smoothness worn by careful feet of deer.

And o’er that path a young brook used to flow,
And laughed and splashed and made a joyful sound,
When I would walk there many years ago,
Amid the shafts of yellow-golden light,
That sometimes fell on fresh New England snow,
Or touched the maple’s leaves and made them glow.

Back when I trod that trail I often wondered,
At the permanence and transience of nature,
And while upon this paradox I pondered,
I could not find a satisfying answer,
But when I simply walked that trail and wandered,
These mysteries and more to me seemed clear.

In Maine’s refreshing air I learnt the secret,
That neither word nor book has yet explained,
And I have not the skill to here repeat it,
No, to learn it you must find – your wood in Maine.


© Samuel Birrer and Serendipity, 2013.

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