Wilderness Calls

It calls to me – the wild does, in the form of memories

Remembered scents of pungent pine those towering stately trees

The crunch of needles under foot, the moist and spongy earth

A place untouched by mans long grasp, unchanged since humanities birth

The trickling water rushing past rocks worn smooth through time

The call of robins, bright and quick, looking for food to find

The passage of a mother doe, followed closely by her fawn

The breaking through of suns first light on a frosty dawn

It calls to me, the mountains do, to come and walk its lanes

Between its trees, along its streams and forever stay

But alas I live each day, trapped by city walls

but if I stop and listen hard, I can hear its call.


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