Down the steep grassy hill
Behind the Interstate rest area,
Away from the incessant traffic shrill.
I wandered toward, wooded arena.
Flames flickering in a clearing below,
Concentrating, I moved stealthfully.
Clearly, the pageant scene began to grow,
Nine or ten hooded and chanting.
Geographically, I didn’t know where I was,
But I sensed what I was witnessing.
A word came to mind…………coven,
And they knew, I was listening.
Pointless, to flee, for I was captivated,
They knew, I knew that they knew, so…..
I sat and opened my mind and stayed
My wishful peace thought, I chose to go.
Back up the high hill and away from the trees,
Up and into the travellers kingdom.
My friends said “where the hell you been”
“Nowhere “ I said, “Sorry, was I gone too long? ”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem