A Pile of Wood Chips
From life to vivaciousness
wood chips will nourish with nutrients' fix.
Ah... whiffs of fresh pine sift as temperature rises,
steam swirling from this pile higher than I.
Should I climb upon it and slide down,
I could drown in the sweet smelling heat.
Woodland bits would grip garments like embellishments,
pokes groping my skin as I whimsically wince,
pinecone punctures perceived as pleasures.
My hair would wear the wilderness afresh,
twigs twirling between tresses to rest.
With sought satisfaction of childhood carelessness,
hugging trees' sacrificial splendor,
I plunge in and spin.
2/29/2020
Copyright © Juliet Ligon | Year Posted 2020
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