Walking along the beaten path, trodden down by travelers past.
A creek runs parallel along the way, upon the banks it’s ripples play.
A twig snaps from some place near, it is my friend Mr. Deer.
The yipping of a fox heard from afar, telling me stay where you are.
This terrain can be a beast, it isn’t easy to say the least.
The beauty that I see, worth the trek to me.
The raccoon wears his menacing mask, foraging is his task.
As I near rabbits scurry away, after I pass returning to their play.
The squirrel it’s agility freeing, is content with being.
Hawks glide above with style and grace, something special is this place.
Our Roses Were Yellow 