Bob Wolff

February 19, 1956 - New Jersey
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The Forest Floor

I set my soul in a meadow, for it to dry in the sun
And drain the dark fetid water pulling it down
The acrimony of life poisons all things around
And erodes the joys of having once been young.

Each day, each moment that carried sorrow
Poisoned my heart and stained my soul
With a darkness steeped black like coal
Ever waning hope for a better ‘morrow.

The dry golden grass and the heat of the day,
As I lay still in that field of summer’s bliss,
Softly caressed my body and tendered me a kiss
And gently whispered that perhaps I should stay

When time and life erode the will to rise and fight
And you can manage no more than a bended knee
The battle is there…but lost…you struggle to even be
Dreaming of the deep sleep of that permanent night

In the field a solitary sparrow sings, not to me or any man
And the incessant tick of the clock ceases to echo in my head
The thick green moss is my pillow and the dancing daisies my bed
The dragonfly passing by whispers “this is where you began”.

And for that moment, those endlessly eternal seconds in time
I was strong and straight again, wearing the armor of youth
My steps were long and my stride carried purpose and sooth
I was born of the forest; and to be back again, purely sublime.

There is no defeat to the sands of time; though all men test and try
But to grant a respite, and to glimpse what was once more,
As I did this summer’s day laying upon the musky forest floor,
I think I shall wish to dwell here longer, perhaps until I can touch the sky.
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