I walked about the underlay,
my city life to flee.
Wondering if I’m wasting the day,
I stopped, surprisingly.
I sat silent, beneath the trees,
like man and nature wed.
My hair disheveled from a breeze,
that softly stroked my head.
I gazed about my resting place;
at nature’s casualties —
a multi-colored interlace,
my office never sees.
The crackle of a carcass tree
carried across the air.
Yet no one heard or knew but me.
So only I would care.
I sat there all the afternoon,
and very strange to see,
a nation of noises in usual tune,
yet none acknowledging me.
At five O’clock I took my leave,
with comb across my hair.
For the moment I believe,
I will keep the secret where,
quiet reflection at timeless length,
returns to my mind an inner strength,
that I had forgotten was ever there.
This poem first appeared in Westward Quarterly.
—
Michael Mulherin lives in Rochester, NY, where he earned his MBA at St. John Fisher University. Michael writes poetry largely for the personal enjoyment of it. Michael has two poems published in the Fall 2024 issue of Westward Quarterly and has one to be included in the upcoming Winter 2025 issue of WWQ.
