| Over my shoulder, seeds sprout Deep in the readied earth. Is that the sound of singing- Giggles wrapped in mirth? Over my shoulder, saplings. Tender and true they rise. I can still see a twinkling Dancing in denim eyes. Over my shoulder, Redwoods. Roots where the seeds did sprout. Climbing the high, brown mountain Forging a new way out. Over my shoulder, everything Or is it nothing at all? Time guarantees the passing. Summer turns into fall. Winter turns into springtime Seedlings turn into trees. Over my shoulder, fog rolls. Elusive my memories. --------- This poem was inspired by Robert Louis Stevenson's "Over the Land is April," an Everyday Poems selection. It's not exactly a first line poem, as I borrowed the third line from each phrase "Over the high, brown mountain, which shows up near the middle of my piece. |
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