SANCTUARY

On this low bluff I often seek
more with my soul than faded eyes
solitude beside a middling creek
beneath the varied seasons' skies
occasionally at year's demise

I share this time with stalwart fellows
most having seen many a more year
of spring greens and autumn yellows
than this random visitor to here
who sits still as any deer

These fellows are the aged trees
guardians of quiet hoary hollow
too old to be bent by mere breeze
stirring itself through fields gone fallow
while whispering to come and follow

So I sit on the northern side
in shade of lowering dim sun
watching the world just abide
and listening to the water run
until the day is nearly done

I then must rise on aching knees
while ducks and blue cranes fly on past
on their way to roost in distant trees
after their full day's repast
then I turn toward home at last