A blend of northern grasses fields
a forest of homestead trees; the saplings,
long overcome by maturity, bear witness
to the prayer of Native sons; to give back
what you take from Mother Earth.
In the midst of this green-crowned bark,
a sacrificial altar of oak remains;
its once tall spine gives strength
to the walls that house my children.
a beauty lost to hearth from need.
One over-populated crab apple,
draws deer at dusk and dawn.
Thank God for a pre-set Mr Coffee,
and a strangulated teapot
for morning routines,
worked in first light,cease,
as the four-legged creatures near.
I smile, as the collective intake
of breath is held and released
without accompanying speech.
Breaking the moment to be on time
for artificial satisfaction,
is not the legacy I choose
to leave my children.