Raymond A. Foss Poems

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Off the road, into the woods
a makeshift lean-to
fallen, dry, peeling bark
a phalanx of dead pine saplings
leaning too uniform
against an unseen beam
seemingly felled by human hands
placed too neatly, too surely
by nature, by randomness
in the thawing woods, March in Maine
too far from the road
too quick a glance to be sure
but it was a little too perfect, too planned
to be anything but by human hands

March 14, 2008

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