walking through the humid <br />southern woods as a child <br />with my daddy crossing <br />the trickling spring with <br />cool fresh water to quench <br />our parched throats as <br />we picked water cress for <br />supper and I leapt over <br />the dead fallen logs <br />in our path and dodged <br />the twigs from the branchs <br />that flew back to hit me <br />running to keep up with <br />daddy and his long legs <br />a snake would slither <br />across our path as <br />my daddy's gentle hands <br />would grab me and keep <br />me away from harm <br />him showing me wild <br />flowers and naming the <br />birds making the sounds <br />of the whip-poor-will or <br />bob white while I would imitate <br />and we would pick wild <br />flowers to take home to <br />mother and she would place <br />them in a mason jar <br />and proudly adorn our humble <br />table with the center piece <br />from our walk in the woods<br /><br />Nicole Alexander<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-walk-through-the-woods/
