poetic inspiration : robert forest

At the Edge of the Field

The stone wall runs its crooked line, half-buried in the grass, as if it never meant to last, yet holds the boundary fine.

The maple leans, the birch stands tall, their shadows cross the ground; I pause, unsure which path I’ve found, and hear the crow’s harsh call.

The road bends gently out of sight, no sign to mark the way; I linger in the fading light, and choose by heart—not day.

For every step is small and plain, yet carries what we keep; a field, a wall, a whispered name, a promise sown to sleep.