Nowhere to stand
In this wetland
Its easier to climb than it is to walk

Bridges from fallen trees
Swatting at nettles and at the bees
Maybe it was a yellow jacket

Slashing through blackberry bramble
Was only part of the slow ramble
Rarely was there need for talk

Mud so deep and thick
Tried to gauge it with a stick
Once I opened my finger with a hatchet

While the property lines
Aren’t well defined
Whose woods these are I think I know.

Last line prompted from Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening”