Clarion Call
The rotting process,
The ailing wood,
Slowly its strength ebbed,
Gradually its resilience declined,
Blemishes made inroads to its core,
Its roots became feeble and frail,
Its boughs withered,
They fell off like drops of rain,
When wood becomes earth,
It is washed away by seasons” denude,
When wood sleeps,
It is home to crawling creatures,
A loss to nature’s tapestry,
A marker for tomorrow’s frayed beauty.
June 22, 2022.
Copyright © Thompson Emate | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment