| THE WATCHER ON THE SHORE |
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I have grown old, too old to walk where the water's edge is deep with reeds the marsh hen builds her summer place Sunrise, wild loons dance and mate Where the water's edge is deep with reeds The heron watches Sunrise , wild loons dance and mate Mountain shadows darken water The heron watches an otter poised on a sandbar waits mountain shadows darken water circles form and drift toward the west The otter poised on a sandbar waits a poplar bursts its blossoms circles form and drift toward the west green mist rises A poplar bursts its blossoms the white birch curves her branches to the wind green mist rises You call out and I answer The white birch curves her branches to the wind a chipmunk tastes a pine cone You call out and I answer but I no longer plash my moccasins beside that shore |
| Frances Sbrocchi is an expatriate Canadian poet living in Western Australia. Her work has been published in Quarrie, The Antigonish Review, Wascana Review, Western Word, and on numerous internet journals, including Snakeskin, LadybugFlights. A septagenarian, she is working on a series of poems and memoirs: a "crone-ology", perhaps? |
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Poem © Frances Sbrocchi, 2001 Web design by Gerald England This page last updated: 6th March 2003. |