Who Will I Write For
Who will I write for,
When there’s no one left to please,
When my leaves have fallen,
Scattered in the breeze?
The forest defines me,
Yet I am lost in the trees,
Scarred and bruised survivor,
The only one of me.
My bent down frame gives
no more shade, gravity
Gradually got its way,
And roots are not immune.
Who will I write for
When there is no one left to please?
Copyright © James Fredholm | Year Posted 2015
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