Morning Park Ride
Riding my bicycle along the wooded path.
The air is like the first air on earth,
cool, crisp, refreshing.
It energizes my soul completely.
The beautiful river flowing
just beyond the walking
path to one side.
Here a squirrel, there a bird scurrying and
hopping up and down the trail
and over to the nearest tree.
The sing song voices,
of young Asian girls,
chatting it up.
Walking in a groups together,
they form a joy luck club parade.
Geese flying high above,
on wind engulfed wings,
serenading like so many
feathered french horns.
Gentle people walking their dogs,
soft coats and wet noses,
adored and beautiful.
Beloved best friends
in this life.
Slender young boy, bike parked
by the pond, wanders along,
breathing in all of nature.
Oblivious to the fact that
he should be in school.
Peer pressure, academic stress.
His lessons better learned here
beneath the wise oak tree.
The river tells him tales of the
past as she whispers in
his ear, the same lullaby
that she sang to young
native Indian boys
a few hundred years
Would it be so wrong if he
could stay here forever.
Some day earn
a right livelihood
caring for this sanctuary.
I must return home but
like the young boy,
I want to stay
Lynne FincherSpringarden's Other Poems
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