April Poem #10

Michigan

The hills roll gently
filled with sand piled
by years of time and wind.

The forests rustle all the time
life erupts from the ground
the cool air blows
the soft smell of freshwater.

The rocks are gentle, full
of green veins.
Life is young here
and so am I.

Author: Matthew

A father, son, husband, and fairly rad dude.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s