Our Sunday Walk By Keith Pearson

 

this moment of easy leisure

a communion with the lazy bone plain

where our fathers once stirred

a single bird flits from pine

to oak to wire to stone

a measure of his own sacred ground

with each breath his call evokes

another picture held still in time

the way color melts away from sight

here among our brethren close

some at rest and others on watch

keeping a lonely vigil among the faithful

our mockingbird in the cemetery.

Keith Pearson

I live in southern New Hampshire and works with special ed students at a local high school.