Your favorite haunts may call to me as well,
To take a late walk down a garden path,
And maybe stop and sit there for a spell,
Ponder the best road and its aftermath,
Then mend a wall (or be glad that it fell.)
I’d stop by woods upon a snowy night,
Build a fire and compare it to the ice,
Or smell apples I can’t rub from my sight.
Swinging on birches would be rather nice,
If then your muse would stop by and alight.
© Susan Joy Clark 2021
This was in response to dVerse’s challenge to write a poem to a poet.
