The Wanderer Poem by Christan Bowen

As I dreamed of smokey mornings
And leaves of brown falling so quietly
I dreamed of grass so high
That it might swallow the passerby

A rich undergrowth became the scene of distant vision
and the rhythm of the waterfall was so mystically inclined
to reach for a shore that was left behind by time

We are farther down the pass that I've ever went
When the pass bent into heaven sent scents
of oak and brush tree limbs

There was a barrel that had risen from a pond
That it was so old and told of times beyond
Beyond the grasp of mental abilities
Underneath the branches of a willow tree