Sunday, June 28, 2020
Thoreau in his Cabin––poem by Dorothy
Thoreau in his Cabin
I knew from early on
that they could not have me.
Thoreau in his cabin,
Aurobindo in his cave––
they were my models,
the goals I yearned to find.
Always I sought to be
who I was.
Not the false images
they held before me,
the lady dressed in fur,
face painted like a savage
ready for war,
shoes unfit to walk.
Books were my refuge,
music my escape.
Trees spoke to me,
flowers sang in my ears.
The stars whispered secrets,
the moon clothed me
in joy.
I had a hidden world,
invisible to the rest.
It was my place of refuge,
shrouded to all but me
in my lingering desire.
Dorothy Walters
June 25, 2020
I knew from early on
that they could not have me.
Thoreau in his cabin,
Aurobindo in his cave––
they were my models,
the goals I yearned to find.
Always I sought to be
who I was.
Not the false images
they held before me,
the lady dressed in fur,
face painted like a savage
ready for war,
shoes unfit to walk.
Books were my refuge,
music my escape.
Trees spoke to me,
flowers sang in my ears.
The stars whispered secrets,
the moon clothed me
in joy.
I had a hidden world,
invisible to the rest.
It was my place of refuge,
shrouded to all but me
in my lingering desire.
Dorothy Walters
June 25, 2020
