by Greg Zemlansky
Through my window I can see a silent country
road that leads to a small quiet town; where
the mighty Kennebec River flows without
making a sound.
Through my window I can see seagulls
sitting on rocking chair waves going
for a ride; where old faded sea captain
houses still stand with pride.
Through my window I can an old barn
sagging in the arms of time; where
harvest has turned leaves from
green to rose colored wine.
Through my window I can see an
antique railroad bridge that still
has freight trains slowly crawling;
where handmade fishing boats cast
off their daily morning trawling.
Through my window I can see a
tractor cultivating a nearby farm-
land; where I can see the ever-
changing beauty that is spelled
by mother nature’s hand.
