A Poem to Share - Cobbler's Knob

Cobbler’s Knob
The knob was full
of stinging nettle
and bitter dock
with its heart-shaped leaves.
In the clearing I saw the blue flowers
of chicory
whose roots the Indians
would grind to make a drink
like coffee.
I crouched on the path.

I could hear the chick-a-dee-dee-dee
of the black-capped chickadees
and the peter-peter-peter call
of the tufted titmice
in the oaks and hickories.
We regarded each other peaceably
as dusk came.

A breeze rose
out of the valley
bringing a night-hawk
flapping its thin wings.
I walked to the edge
of the trees, sat on the ground
and stilled myself to let
the wild ones
come near.