How pure it burns the Northern Lights, over Minnesotas mystic nights; here stirs the winds with deathless wings, with secrets undivided; ye, here moans the forest deep to think, what heart would seek, to take, or reap, its strange and deep beauties, and deeper joys from its woodlands, and kindly trees, from its little creek, nearby.
#1367 6/5/2006 When I was at Pine Creek, by Lake Superior, in Bayfield, Minnesota I noticed animal foot prints, in the sand, and the creek, in the back of an old B&B, where I stayed, was as lovely as the day is long. My wife and I climbed down the slope to it, gazed at it; then walked deep into the woods behind the old mansion, up a cliff (sort off). It was all raw beauty, such as will be gone someday I suppose, so we must capture it now. The poem is small, and is composed of a few fragments, of the beauty of Minnesotas Northerly Lights, its woods, and the little creek, but I felt the commentary should be longer than the poem in this ca se. When you walk into the thick deep woods by the creek, it is infested with mosquitoes, and the sound of bears, not sure if it is just the winds or the trees, whatever it sounds like wings flapping and one does not see birds until you are out in the opening; in places it is dim, and in other places gleaming with the morning sun; whispers unknown to me, I heard; as if eyes were seeking light but finding me, almost to the loss of a heart beat, I walked to and fro, and then out of this cloud of a forest, then went into the B&B for breakfast.
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry and Commentary
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