Author Peter H. Lee Where is the seventh bend? Autumn tints are lovely at Maple Rock. A coat of thin clear frost embroiders the hanging cliffs. Alone I sit on the cold stone and forget to return home. Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments