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Jeffrey Leever

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At Cottonmill with Erin
by Jeffrey Leever
Tuesday, December 10, 2002

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Recent poems by Jeffrey Leever
•  A little Afterthought on Poetry
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•  Flower in the Wind
           >> View all 8

The wind stopped
to ponder that day, as it wove its way
through the trees and our hair,
if the time of year was summer and not November.

"But you always watch football on Sunday," you say.
Oh but not today, no way.
"Come with me, you'll see," I replied.

A picnic table and a box of chicken tenders--
then the swings--where the smiles of two kids,
too grown to let their feet dangle,
made football not matter.

Then we walked,
breathlessly surrounded by the pines and needles,
and mud that couldn't discourage.

I'd never known it before,
but on that day amidst the wonderous works
of the One who created;
the lake's ripples,
a cheerful bird,
the trees
and the sunshine,
and you...

I knew what it felt like to be surrounded by beauty.
And now, though it is gone,
I'll always know.

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Reviewed by sonja lewis 1/5/2003
great poem I love it
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