John I Nash

The Meeting - Poem by John I Nash

As I walked down the path, I felt like whistling, but my whistle is such a feeble thing, it mattered not to me. It felt good to be out and about.

As I walked I kicked the dirt on the path in front of me and looked at the sand as it fell back to earth, such a simple thing that makes a man feel good.

The high grass on either side of the path held all kinds of wonders and mysteries to be found. I could have been on a safari in Africa, and would have not been more intrigued, such a simple thing that captures a man's interest.

The smell of the woods surrounding me was rich, damp, and pungent.
I wonder what wild beast may lurk in such a place yet one hundred yards from the safety of my home, one never knows. Imagination running wild far more than any beast in this patch of wood. Such a simple thing that can let a man escape his reality.

Looking upon the sky, it being blue with white cotton ball clouds, if I squinted my eyes one cloud looked like my puppy Jackie Boy. Such a simple thing that makes a man remember love given.

Felling good, I wondered if I could still skip, I could indeed. What a simple thing that makes a man feel young again.

There I was, trying to whistle, looking side to side and up at the sky, skipping down the path, when to my surprise, I slammed into another person, I knew not who, but could tell that he was skipping to.

In astonished embarrassment, we looked at each other sitting on the ground where we had fallen. Why hello fellow I said, pleasant morning is it not? Indeed, hello he replied.

We both endeavored to pick ourselves up while brushing the dirt from our trousers, peeking at one another. Realizing we were neighbors, do you skip here often I asked with a smile. Yes he replied, do you he asked. My first time but I shall again that is for certain. Well nice meeting you he said as he walked away in a very dignified manner, looking over his shoulder as he went.

I would not give up such a wonderful thing, so skipped away looking side to side and up at the blue sky to see old Jackie Boy winking at me. What a strange meeting it was indeed.

Topic(s) of this poem: children

Poet's Notes about The Poem

This poem was written in the style of the late 19th century on the challenge from a professor of English, he said it reminded him of Robert Frost. He also said you are not a poet until you recite one of your poems in a bar, I also did that.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Poem Edited: Saturday, December 12, 2015

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