Student Publishing Program ::

Nathan Cross

My Place

The enclosed woods are calling me, calling me
As I press my hand against the old birch tree.

The still green pond is thanking me, thanking me
For not turning it into a high sea.

The gentle wind is helping me, helping me
By clearing the soft ground of all the debris.

The fallen tree welcomes me, welcomes me
So I take the seat that’s offered for free.

I sit there, on the dead oak tree
Wondering what would be
If the woods weren’t there to comfort me.

[TABLE OF CONTENTS, LHS CLASS OF 2010 EDITION]