Woodland Walk

As one whose mind wanders often in thought. I so often find myself wandering away to childhood days, in a countryside far away from these bright city spaces. As a country boy I very often cling to dreams of what I call home. That quiet simple country life that suits my heart much easier. This is the point where I introduce today’s Poem.

It is a Poem from which I use a technique that should be easier to compose and edit poetry etc. Or so my active imagination thinks it would. Often, I take time to walk alone. I move to an area not very far away from where I live. This is a spot that makes me feel that I am closer to home than I actually am. For what I call home is still that country home away from city lights. This is a poem that I use techniques that should take the reader along to my childhood or childhood mind.

If this works it should make for an interesting walk through time on to what seemed to be easier days. But childhood days are always made to feel more interesting and easier. If this does not work, this poem will become a mess and a lot of confusion. I pray that you will enjoy this.

This is the best possible image for this Poem. Which works for this Poem and for this topic. All thanks go to AI that provides an image that works for this task. Thus credit goes to AI for the image.

Woodland Walk





Well, worn beneath my wandering feet, this path,
Where recent rains still rest in earthen air,
The river rushed along as I retraced my past,
Deep-drawn in drifting days of long ago laid bare.



When summer’s soft and sunlit days shone bright,
As silver showers swept in, children free from care,
The silent hills sprang stirring into life,
As though they sang in welcome to the rain-filled air.



Yet we ne’er cared nor feared the freely falling rain,
As silver streams slipped soft from sunlit cheeks again,
I’d sit in silent, searching awe ‘neath open skies,
Where shards of sun broke bright through drifting clouds on high.



As others raced on restless feet in careless play,
I perched on patient limb to pass the time away,
Watching warm sun-wisps weave through clouds with ease,
When, wondrous still, a lone heron settled by the trees.



Yet now my aging frame disturbed its gentle rest,
And left me lingering long with thoughts I can’t suppress,
For youth, like wings, had vanished to uncharted skies,
And I returned, once wandering, to where the river lies.






_{Copyright © 2026 Pat Fitzgerald 
All Rights Reserved}

Thank you for coming with me on my little journey, that is composing or writing poetry. Life is a journey we all walk on. My journey in creating poetry is a journey of its own. Which I still learn much on as I write.

At times I experiment on techniques or ways to improve my poetry. Getting feedback is always most welcome for efforts like these.

When I write poetry, some readers will be offended with something within the poetry. I do not write to offend, But such are written for reasons I outline in the posts. Often I miss typos and mistakes when publishing each poem. I correct the moment I discover such mistakes.

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