Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.226.166.64

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

I sit before the February fire
and watch the flames die down to amber glow.
My grandson comes just in the nick of time
to bring the fire to life with chunks of oak
from that last tree that, as a child, I climbed.

I drift into the past and think of times
I shared my childhood stories with my sons.
I still can see them sitting at my feet
and smiling at descriptions of the times
my friends and I played outside all day long.

Best memories were of five grant oak trees   
that symbolized, to me, our family's strength.
Their shading limbs and stately, genteel grace
were part and parcel of the life I knew.
I passed my sentiments on to my sons.
			
Although my sons grew up the way I had,
they shared no “great oak’ stories with their sons.	 		                          
They felt that tales of special trees would be
too sentimental for their modern taste--
for, after all, what is a tree but wood?

I sit here chilled before the blazing fire.
I grieve for limbs sliced up by power saws
and carried in by younger, stronger men
who speak of how one tree will last till spring.
My clueless grandson smiles, and I just sigh.


March 10, 2023
B--Forms and Words Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required