New poem from Wilma Seville
By Wilma Seville
I brush against low branch
green leaves caress my cheek
its spindly trunk a contrast
among stately, rough barked trees.
I tramp along tree-lined path
carpeted with orangey/red leaves
which crackle under my feet
Slender trees stretch towards heaven
their branches now stripped bare
reaching towards the sun.
My thoughts turn to the Creator
as I meander along the path
thinking how like other living things we are
stretching towards the light of God.
Smiling, I stoop down
Pick up red maple leaves
To make a fall wreath for my door
Happy to be one with nature.
(reponse to Janusz Wrobel’s Misty Woods)
Performed at Carnegie Gallery Nov. 4, 2012