Dennis Herrell has been writing poetry for forty years during his adult life as teacher, outside sales person, and, lately, antique dealer. He is like every poet in the world – always in training, and painfully aware of it. Enter his world to read some poems he has had published.
Down a Wooded Path
We walked down a wooded path,
You pressed your face against a cool stone
and murmured to the earth.
We followed the cadence of falling leaves,
of wind bending grasses,
and the slow circles of a hawk.
You exclaimed over the smell of wild onions,
and I believed the wrinkled wave
of brown fungus
on a dead branch.
we would be sorry if we left.
( 12/5/01 – Tucumcari)