What About Carl Sandburg?

-For My Mother, Ingrid K. Heegaard

Hiding along that Blue Ridge,

she, like the fog,

creeps along the paths

named for him.

Edging forward,

on her little cat feet and cane,

weaving in and out of forest lanes,

weaving along autumn leaves

visiting Carl and other things,

writing passages in his park.

Her words companion

to that past poet

long, long after he has gone;

her thoughts meandering

like a quiet stream

in the flow of things.

2016 copyright by Katie Pifer http://www.witchpetals.wordpress.com





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