“Holmes Run” by Elisabeth Vodola

The woods draw me in, enchant me;

I want to leave no shape unturned, no green unseen;

I want each flower’s imprint on my mind,

The purple of the spiderwort to saturate my eye.


I worship at the Bicentennial tree,

Ancestral oak, with willow leaves’ blue sheen.

Here history is by nature’s hand refined.

It suffers loss, but does not die.