My Hermitage Where I Sit in Isolation
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Perhaps I’ll build a hut just off a trail
In Appalachian mountains far away
From everyone and everything, derail
The rush, block out its roar, and go astray
From all the messiness of humans. Fog
Will be a godsend when mirk comes. The mist
Will water grass up on my roof. The smog
Of traffic and of factories never missed
Will fade to nothingness in memory; each
Approach of twilight calm be like a prayer
An anchoress might send up. It will reach
