Kenlo Bertram

The French Creek Valley

I look around this little town
Surrounded by valley and hill
Mountains here are old and strong
And pre-autumn air is touched with chill.

Our waters flow with healing balm
Creeks and streams and rivers
Forefathers camped and fought so hard
For the glorious vales those lakes delivered.

Fog hangs high around hilltops
And fills up the spaces below
Like a curtain drawn back at break of day
To reveal sunkissed wonders all aglow.

All seasons in unrestrained revel
Show up like clockwork each year
Each spring summer fall pass by quickly
Winter lasts but it still brings its cheer.

Breathing fall air is like perfume
Filled with pine, osage orange and more
Scent of cedar chips, leaves that are baking
And our harvest of crops by the score.

Everything colored like pumpkin spice
And leaves all shades of their own
Fall mums grace each garden and doorway
And the birds are still here! They haven't flown!

Nuts and buckeyes and apples
Stud the natural carpet of leaves
Rustling alerts you to visitors' steps
Be it neighbors, or squirrels in the trees.

As I warm up a good cup of cider
And watch red maples start to blaze
I know I was blessed to be born in this place
To have witnessed such heaven-sent days.

Poem Submitted: Monday, October 22, 2007
Poem Edited: Monday, April 18, 2011

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