Stone Love

“We have both grown mossy with age,” writes poet Pat Smith of Brooklin. Photo courtesy of Unsplash.

By Pat Smith

Wordsworth says Nature never did betray 

The heart that loved her but

Forest and field, flower and tree

What does the country care about me?

Day’s golden eye burns lower in the blue afternoon

Oak leaves rustle applause to the breeze

Acorns plummet and bounce branch to branch

Am I more welcome in the woods than before?

What do I matter to our big boulder? 

I am old but it is much older

A glacial erratic it came from somewhere else

We do have this in common

We have both grown mossy with age

We have changed and continue to change

So do you, by the way

You are more welcome in the woods than me

In this poem you loaf in the grass like Whitman

You are completely at ease 

Among bark and growl of a raven you cannot see

Flowers almost grab you by the waist

Ferns nod as you pass by

Proud oaks look you in the eye and invite your gaze

The boulder rolls a shoulder toward you in the sun

Do me a favor and let it know 

I also used to rock and roll

–Pat Smith lives in Brooklin. His most recent book, “You Are Your Own Suitcase and Other Poems,” came out this year. He teaches yoga at the Blue Hill YMCA.

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