Evening gusts shall take away all my fear,
The stars will shine and fill my eyes with cheer,
The universe holds everything so dear
But you my love... How much I want you here
Lonely nights upon horizons I face,
To hold you again in this sacred place
I howl forlorn into the moonlit space
Where once we lay in our loving embrace
Weeping willows shall whistle in the glen,
As I lay silent with paper and pen
You left me, but I forgive you, again
The tree my witness, return to me, then....
We grow our roots beneath this willow tree
In sun and rain we will together be
April 22, 2017
Copyright © Darren White and White Wolf
Copyright © Darren White | Year Posted 2017
A chain-saw wailed across the fields
while two young men broke out in sweat…
The tree had grown with leaves of gold
lacing branches, frail and old--
-until its time was spent
He'd been watching from his afghan nest…
with eyes rimmed red from unshed tears
But, age and illness had hemmed the years
And, just as earth might moan in pain,
the tree came tumbling down
There had been a day not long before...
It was before his war began
Back then he could lift a saw like that.
Hold it skillfully, carefully, casually……
Angle ..down , angle up, cut a wedge and hear it crack
Now pathos in dust-driven clouds
has shadowed an earth that has lost its sun
It trembles now to catch its breath
and branch by branch it lays to rest
leaves of courage, the golden crest
that was shelter, a home, a fortress, blessed
A place to lean, and find solace
A tree ……or a man cannot be defined
by disease, confinement, by age or time
A tree falls down. It is nature's way
to open the field, clearing the way
What came before, grows new today,
The void that's left cannot be filled
but, tears we shed can hold a smile
His leave will make a louder sound
The dust will rise. Trees burn to ash
What matters most is never lost
Yes, it has shattered our fragile hearts
Oh God, how it matters, how could it not?
But, he and his tree have earned a rest
Dedicated with love to my courageous, beloved older brother
who recently lost his war with cancer.
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2017
Released and slowly drifting to the earth,
the leaf departs her tree in mournful grace;
though both will live to see another birth,
none same will be returning in her place.
We meet as always in the space between
the branch's bud and parting leaf stem's end;
a tearful eye, a tugging force unseen
does will the laws reverse, gravity bend.
Enhanced though was the nearly naked tree
by springtime's bloom, her fallen trembling love -
released to serve another destiny -
in turn, will be the better than above.
Leaf falls to rest, and in her fading sigh,
she breathes to tree her final sad goodbye.
Copyright © Tracy Decker | Year Posted 2007
The rivers run with tears
As oceans bear the rain
Sailors sail through fears
With no promise of terrain
Only to dwell and reach this land
That moans with sorrow and grief
Only to hold on to a lonely hand
The way a tree holds its last leaf
Don’t praise the moments of joy
Because they hardly ever last
Summers are memories to enjoy
When the Autumns come too fast
Copyright © Abdullatif Kanafani | Year Posted 2016
A dysfunctional child lies in a heap of mud
If a parent couldn’t help do you think a stranger would?
Holes in her heart
A family that torn apart
Not a bad girl just a poor outcome
Just bad labels like 'stupid' and 'dumb'
In this tree lies a damaged root
That’s why we see no flowers or fruit
Broken trees can’t grow wings
So this little girl resorted to other things
a true story about a girl and her family
Copyright © R Kumari | Year Posted 2005
I do not know?
When you pulled the trigger
you came to me and tried to love me
ask my forgiveness,
it made me cry, it was so cold
I shook with your suffering
I drew you in the afterlife
alone and crying with gods light
asking you to come
your shame, a mistake,
you had so much to give
i painted two trees
one that was dying
the other was dead
the tree loved you
amd misses you still
Copyright © Michael Harman | Year Posted 2009
Two beautiful trees on a hill that died
Two beautiful trees for whom I cried
They weathered the seasons through the years
They stood the test of time
And weathered all the storms just fine
When our life is none
And our time on earth is done
When we have stood the test of time
Like the trees we weathered just fine.
For Sandra on the loss of her parents
Copyright © Phyllis Babcock | Year Posted 2008
I cry until my entrails are laid out before me.
I watch the vultures,
My insecurities feast on my nerve ridden stomach.
I’ve repeated the cycle for many days.
My love forever stains
This sea of linens which was once our home.
The call of the sirens is strong
And resisting drives us mad.
How do I know my attempts are not in vein?
Is this futile?
The upkeep of this tree outnumbers the fruit.
I do not blame nature.
I allowed this.
As soon as I walk away you fully blossom.
I was always cursed with bad timing.
I must now focus on my own flowers sprouting
Before I plant anymore seeds.
You will continue to grow
As you always have.
And I’ll still marvel at your beauty from afar.
What a grand tree you were.
I retract my own roots and return to my bed.
I reminisce until I drift away.
Becoming a prisoner of my head.
Seeing pictures of you and me
And dreaming of what was and what will be.
Copyright © Alexander Schwartz | Year Posted 2010
Gazing out upon dusky barren moor,
Where gray grass grasps the air
Finding no purchase but sad allure
Straight stalks elapse their endless despair.
Teased by tales of golden reach
Tricked by gales, whose song they preach.
Redtail’s velvet wings breach the sky,
Maroon lips who kiss the grass
Stirring the song, its desperate sigh
Catching the words, her beak of crystal glass
Behind her, midnight shadow draws
Fells her beauty with unseen charcoal paws
Scarlet tears dampen the earth below
Nurture the roots held by dusty truth
Finally, the wind, gray grass’ will bestow
The hawk once, now the fountain of youth.
Litany of silence reigns in dusky glare,
Each blade bowed in mournful prayer.
Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015
The Cross and The Lynching tree are the two most emotional depictions
Of the African experience in America when it comes to the descriptions
Of the historical circumstances that define my people's struggle
Of the hatred, the pain and the injustice nothing but trouble
Torn down and broken hearted in the valley of despair
Death seemed like the only way to get out of there
But my people were survivors and they knew that one day change would come
So they held on to their faith and hope because of the Holy One
They would not accept defeat, they would not accept doubt
They knew that somehow God would work it all out
Despair may seem so real but we have an endemic capacity to live
Knowing that God is on our side and mercy to us He did give
Glory Hallelujah we placed our hope in Christ
Despite the rope and lynching tree taking my people's lives
The Lynching tree depicts death and despair
While the Cross symbolizes eternal life and no fear
We've been transformed and transcended by the power of the Cross
In spite of white supremacy and the black lives that were lost
And we now know that there is nothing new under the sun
As what happened to my people also to Jesus it was done
The Cross is a redemptive symbol of faith, hope and trust
It depicts God's resurrection power that abides inside of us
And the harsh realities of slavery that my ancestors endured
Has made their descendants more resilient than ever before
Yet systemic lynching in still in affect and the world needs to see
What's truly happening in America's so called democracy
Black folks are being killed almost every single day
A disproportionate number in prison or in economic disarray
Financial slavery in the form of debt, unemployment or uneducated
But we hold on hoping that one day we will be truly emancipated
From the Crucifixion to the Middle Passage and beyond slavery
We know see the correlation between the Cross and The Lynching tree
Copyright © louise nelson | Year Posted 2015
There's something unspecific about the autumn nights
A certain shade of color that uplifts my inner child's eyes
Beside a cashmere moon Venus and Jupiter shine bright
Complimented by a sea of blinking infinite twilight
The scent of burning oak lingers in the air from home made fires
Reminiscent of a time when this man was just a child
Careless and so free to dream and any dream to live
Like feathers floating across a field carried by the wind
As a gentle breeze blows through the leaves shivering delightful gloom
Unlike flowers of springtime the disheveled autumn vibrance bloom
Leaves crackle beneath my feet along the skeleton tree path
Where I try to find my peace or a song to make me laugh
The air is so much crisper and also soothing when I breathe it in
Underneath a starry sky and brighter constellations of Heaven
Amidst the trail I pass a lovely couple holding hands
While their children run aside frolicking in a playful dance
An old man and his wife admire the view from a wooden bench
With smiles on their face as if nostalgia is still their closest friend
Its these specific autumn affects that bring me sorrows and joy
Reminding me of all theses things Ive wanted as a man since I was a little boy
Its times like these that I wish I wasn't always so alone
Because I would light an fire with my family and call it home
Copyright © Jesse James Forster | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
Well we are already a couple of months in so i just wanted to say welcome.
this will be a new journey for the both of us, so i hope it will be awesome.
I will try to write more than usual this year, I promise. :)
What would help tho if you readers would send me topics and stuff to help me write about things cuz my mind goes way faster than my fingers and i cant think of just one thing. lol. so thank you readers. plz comment and tell me your thoughts.
Copyright © Roman Chebukin | Year Posted 2013
Nothing unusual blossomed this spring,
yet, I marvel at the growth
of her resilience
In morning's half-light
I watch her fondle branches,
then, smile, reassured....
It makes my eyes sting...as if
burned by the fruit's tangy juice
He would have been pleased
to know three lovely lemons
survived winter's frost
For Constance's Contest: Three Verses
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
I do not know?
The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation
The Not-So Distant Past:
The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.
They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.
Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,
and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.
19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,
a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.
I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,
our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.
Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,
babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,
yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,
needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,
for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013
whose bony fingers
stretched above gloved branches,
you danced in the sunlight,
for scampering squirrels
and gifts of birdhouse rings.
whose springtime blossoms
for make-believe weddings,
you caught up children
and hugged them tightly
in games of hide and seek.
I run my fingers
along your weeping scars
where Earth’s fury tore
your hand from mine.
I have less air to breath.
Copyright © Rachel Kovacs | Year Posted 2013
Oh summer sun’s dusk, the last of its kind!
Now season to tame the bloom that was wild,
Dyed leaves in the air and their rushing sound,
Go dance in the wind like flares in the ground,
This time it’s his time to wither and die,
This Tree that stood straight front my window by,
Those summers and springs while all looked up high,
It hinders my sight- see Venus in sky,
But now it’s his time to wither and die,
This tree that stood straight front my window by,
Now I am among that can cherish her,
Gone in my perspective- all the Tree’s blur,
I saw her meet the leafy winds of fall,
And through the cold her grace and beauty crawl,
This winter and fall we all looked up high,
At last so I see, I see her in sky!
But this spring had sprung along with its bloom,
The tokens of past are the guilt and gloom,
Rise in its remains front my window by,
Hence there I had gazed my loss as I cry,
“In the humid air as drenched earth below,
Down to his shade where there I was spared so,
And back the days where my peace was at stake,
The anger I shared- these all for my sake,”
For those where his deeds whom I had seen least,
They all were unveiled as now he’s deceased,
So here I see forth- winter! Oh its grief!
Dyed are in the air; last sun’s gloomy leaf,
Shame! Fool, I was fooled. Sweet lies in her hands,
Thus so I’m to look his corpse where this stands…
Front my window by. Radiates those good nights,
I send my rejects to all her invites!
Copyright © Karlo De Leon | Year Posted 2010
On a meandering
road, many years ago
We came upon an
ancient and majestic
Its branches, bare
Autumn’s demand of
an offering to the
We stopped and did
not venture forward
Observing only from
Knowing that if we
walked among its
We would not see the
fullness of its
You sketched it
I sat in awe of it
Years have passed
and she is but a
The tree no longer
stands except for
And your sketch
A cruel beheading
I live knowing that
Rooted below the
Is a soul larger in
death than in life
Copyright © John Trainer | Year Posted 2014
It was Christmas Eve; I was a prisoner of my own divide.
Lost in mind, clad in drunken sadness, caged up inside.
Alone and forlorn my thoughts laden with whiskey lies,
Memories seem so distant, only a week since goodbyes.
Christmas tree glistening, blurry in my vision of tears,
Flashing lights bright, neighbors Christmas party cheers.
No presents or joy in this household upon this night.
Sorrows, misguided gulps of liquor, cloud my sight.
Heartbroken, gloomy devouring the demon filled drink.
No more, no less, my eyes roamed over as I did think.
Hopelessly lost in a whirlwind of memories of no more,
No more, love by a lover, no daughter to teach the score.
Left me in a house, no longer our home that we shared,
Only I and this half-empty bottle, feeling impaired.
She left me, taking my child a thousand miles away.
While here in this house of torture, me and myself stay.
Every corner a recollection blinks by crystalline light.
Splintered and speckled by the twinkling star so bright.
Atop the now barren tree which had shined with joys.
Years before cluttered with wrappers, boxes and toys
I slam a big gulp down my throat, since this was my first.
Night of my debut to the evil of whiskey blinding thirst,
Never before had drunkenness been a quest or even a try,
This night she devoured my soul, not wanting ever to cry.
Intoxication was a desire, though not ever beyond joy.
My virgin body of drink has choked me unable to deploy.
Sour mash tears wash down my face, wiping my eyes.
I hear my built up agony; pour out in inhuman cries.
User Name Cecil Hickman
Sponsor Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~
Contest Name Your "Saddest" Christmas Ever
Copyright © cecil hickman | Year Posted 2010
She slowly grew on him, surrounding his body with brown mold and green moss.
He can’t escape her detachment, her selfless embrace. Her love is only needed from one time to another, like one plant from another, growing and then dying.
And what was that he hoped for but could never find while he was alive?
Some type of love with attachment? She broke him moistly and slowly, piece by piece, while his body sunk deeper into her wet body as the sun and rain touched him.
Right before he died he heard the voice of her, “Shhh, my child, who thinks so highly of himself.”
“You come into me, and I will use you as you are needed! Broken, back into my body, back under my streams of water, back into the cold, soft soil, back where you were born.
You will be used as food for my small creatures. You will be used to fertilize the gardens of my skin.
The tulips in autumn, the dandelions in spring, they all wait to rise and see the rays of the sun just as you did.”
Copyright © JG FINCH | Year Posted 2017
Why The Willow Weeps
Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a beautiful park in a sunny valley.
In this park there were three Willow Trees. In those days the Willow was a proud tall tree,
Its strong limbs outspread. It stood with its branches happily swaying in the breeze,
Two taller Willows grew either side of the smaller tree where they had grown happily for Many years.
The land owner had looked after the sunny valley for a long time but as he became older He had to sell the park and a new owner came along who decided he needed a river Where boaters could glide in slow, tranquil waters.
Then woodsmen came and cut down one of the two taller Willow trees.
The younger tree looked on, helpless. Workmen diverted the river
So that it bent around the younger Tree's feet. The young Willow Tree,
Its branches once stretched out now, saddened, Hung its fronds down into the water.
Then a carpenter came along and built a bridge over the river. Now the park owner Wanted a path over the bridge so the woodsman cut down the remaining tall Willow to Make way for the path where the tall tree had once stood.
Now the young Willow tree wept as its branches dipped into the dappled shade of the Slow moving waters. The boaters on the river admired the beauty of the young Willow, its Soft fronds hanging into the dappled shade around its feet and, just occasionally, the Wind sighed in its branches.
Now all Willows grow with their soft fronds hanging down and weep into the water in Memory of the Willow that wept.
Copyright © Barry Stebbings | Year Posted 2016
A traveler has traveled far and wide,
Lost in the plains of yellow flowers and Poppies
He saw the tree that stood
An Oak tree it was, with stream of water from underneath.
A reflection of his image he saw,
A fallacy he denied.
Like a fool he talk to trees and skies
The west wind blew and his heart felt
Heard his name sorrow, thus the wind Whispers
“A man is weight by the sorrow in his heart”
Thirsty, he drank from the stream.
Bitter it was, but the stream was as clear as the sea
An epiphany he had, the taste of bitterness,
Was from his heart, the taste of sorrow.
Green grass withered and the sun died,
Illuminated by the night skies;
He mocks the heavens
And he curses the ground.
The heaven cried out,
“Man is imprisoned in the passage of time”
The stars died too
The stream dried out and came a man
“I am thy sorrow, thy need, thy fallacy”.
“I live in denial, for I know not the man I see,
I know not of my weight, my sorrows”
“The yolk of life that I carry has undone me”
“Emptiness in a man’s heart is the presences of grief
Atlas! How well did my heart grief” said he
“How well did my heart swallowe’d”
Darkness came over the plain,
the beauty was shunt from man.
A voice he heard,"nature of man is beautiful and deceitful"
Dawn came, blissful, as the early birds began to sing
the dew drops that fell on the grass, illuminated the plains
his heart was filled with tears of truth.
Copyright © LIde Sangtam | Year Posted 2012
Why the dogwood tree grows.
In the middle of a vacant filed stands a grand dogwood tree where the crows gather daily. People flock far and wide just to gaze at its majestic stature and overwhelming beauty wondering silently amongst themselves, “How this tree came to be.”
Shrouded in secrecy lays the scattered bones of a dead man.
His hands rest against his thighs, his head turned upright as his soil filled eyes gaze upward awaiting the warm glow of the sun that sadly never comes.
The man laid to rest beneath the black dirt over time had long been forgotten, he no longer had a name, no home, or even a family of his own. Just the loving roots he had been encased in long ago.
But how this event came to be only three could say.
The women, the murder, and the forever silent dogwood tree.
The restless bones belonged to a man, a young man who had fallen in love and courted another mans betrothed. The women cared for the simple gardening man and the many trees his nimble fingers tended but her fiance was a jealous chap with rage to match.
And upon one final night after witnessing their true loves kiss the grief stricken cohort stuck the man down with his rusted pick axe and banished the gardener to his hand dug grave, placing his lifeless corpse in a vacant filed in which no one came. But what the enraged man didn’t foresee was the seed of a dogwood tree.
It fell from the deceased pocket and grew from the gardeners heart.
Year after year the tree budded magnificent flowers each possessing a hint of red staining their petals.
People marveled in its splendor gazing at the unique tree, gasping in awe and glee, but for one women its beauty agonized her for its existence was a constant reminder that no justice, nor revenge could ever be won for her simple gardening man.
And as the roots steamed onward feeling the caressing flow of a spring wind on its crimson petals the mans chest flooded with air and his dry, frail skeleton once more exuded life;
And as she eyed the swaying branches his memory suddenly came to life.
He was the air the tree inhaled, the nutrients it desperately needed to grow, and the reason it thrived.
Even in death he had the gardeners touch.
Her wrinkled face light up with love and for the first time in fifty years she smiled in happiness thinking to herself.
“That is why the dog wood tree grows, its out of love for my dead mans bones.”
Copyright © Whitney Hart | Year Posted 2012
I saw a tree like a mushroom blooming
Producing awesome power
An infertile wasteland
Written by: Brenda V Northeast
March 12, 2012
Copyright © Brenda Victoria Northeast | Year Posted 2012
Stotutly among the rest of the trees, standing high-
Its height touches the sky in which the kites fly,
Guarding the village like a gallant knight,
Its bark shows the black wounds of many fights.
Its creepers like a dozen of pythons,
Could be seen from far away lawns-
All trying to hold it captive-
But for them its size is too massive.
It has seen so many years;
It has viewed so many deaths of nears and dears;
The signs of sorrow reflect on its face crystal clear;
How so much sorrow doth it bear?
And how doth it resist its sorrowful tears?
Somuch old and yet so young-
Its nostalgic night-song
Is a bridge to my childhood days that have passed long.
Copyright © Sonnet Mondal World Poet | Year Posted 2008
It’s Cooper’s Creek we’re crossing here, Willis said to Burke
We need to have a base camp and this creek ought to work
I’ll put it in the journal, November 1861
It’s been four months since we started but our venture’s just begun
From Melbourne up to lands-end, they’ve asked us to explore
We’ll camp here till it’s cooler but not a whole lot more
But Willis, he got restless, so Burke said it’s OK
So they, with King and Gary, headed north one day
They reached the Little Bynoe after two months on the trail
But swamp lands blocked their passage and they were feeling frail
So back to Cooper’s Creek they turned though provisions were at nil
Three camels and a horse they shot, their bellies so to fill
They caught and ate a python but it gave them dysentery
And somewhere back to Cooper’s Creek, they stopped to bury Gary
Then once again at Cooper’s Creek, the three men planned to rest
Regroup with all the others then get on with their quest
But the campground was deserted, no one had stayed around
Left a message carved upon a tree and provisions under ground
So Burke and King and Willis rested for a while
Then headed north towards Mount Hopeless – a trip of 150 miles
They trudged north along the creek till their camels got bogged down
They had to shoot them, lose provisions and finally turn around
While the three were gone from camp, a rescue party came
Not finding anyone around, they thought it such a shame
They assumed no one had been there and the men were probably dead
They didn’t leave a thing behind just turned around instead
Back again at Cooper’s Creek, beneath the marked “dig tree”
Burke buried notes and journals in case he ceased to be
The Abos try to help them, native cooking 101
But Burke gets mad at someone and fires off his gun
The native help then vanish, the three are left alone
With nothing to sustain them so very far from home
Malnourished and exhausted, they start hiking up the creek
Then by the Breerily Waterhole, Willis gets too weak
Burk and King continue north a couple days
Then Burke dies the next morning and there his body lays
King returned to Breerily and finds Willis has died too
But he camps with some Yandruwandha that somehow get him through
And therein lies the story of Willis, Burke and King
Set off to find Australia but lost most everything
If you’re ever down in Queensland get out to Cooper’s Creek
It’s a carved stump of the “dig tree” for provisions that you seek
Copyright © mike dailey | Year Posted 2012
My nearly daughter gave to me
a branch from off a healing tree
I used it for a remedy
to heal my broken heart
I wish I had it yesterday
but better late than not
I think that I can try to stay
and heal my broken heart
I cannot have those years again
I cannot dry those tears but then
I've found a way to make amends
and heal my broken heart
Copyright © Johnette Loefgren | Year Posted 2006
I do not know?
Worms in my pocket
Toads in my cap
My dog and i on a log we sat
The river close and running free
Sitting under the old willow tree
A stick and a string i fished the day
My dog and i passing the time away
Sitting under this old willow tree
When yesterday it was dad and me
I will always remember the stories he told
Back when he was a boy at his old fishing hole
He said boy i remember when it was Pa and me
Their was a tire tied to that old willow tree
Pa gave me a push the swing went high
Over the river close to the sky
On the grass laid my lunch and book
And in my pocket the worms for the hook
Their on the log sat pa and me
Fishing under the old willow tree
Copyright © colleen laforme | Year Posted 2006
You chew your papaya like you chew her head.
Callous and savagely,
You take out each seed, like you did of hers.
Each seed she sowed in you, you spit out from your soul.
You think you can slice away from her life, give her a piece and let her go.
Aah but what do you know?
She has already killed the biggest seed sown by you.
In her womb lies the remains that you spewed!
The remains of the Papaya tree you grew...
Copyright © Shruti Vellody | Year Posted 2010
God does not always respond the way one expects.
Its branches dressed in luscious green leaves
From the young look of the spring season
The cherry blossom tree had lost its sheen,
The petals of its flowers faded spread around its feet.
Of its pink blossoms, it had been so proud
Spreading their sweet fragrance thereabout
Attracting couples young and old to sprawl
Expressing their love, such joy all about.
Now fewer people came by and when they did
Walked on by without even looking at it
It felt so alive in the presence of love, what a gift!
Had wanted this feeling never to end, but it did.
Said a little prayer to its Maker
Asked Him if he could bring back the flowers
It seemed to make people so happy
But nothing happened, and the tree felt lonely.
One day a young woman came by
She sat at its feet and began to cry
The tree felt in her the same sadness of loss
And wished it could comfort her somehow.
Said a little prayer again to its Maker
Asked Him how he could bring joy to her
A little wind began to blow suddenly
As if the Maker acknowledged its plea.
Its current detached one of its leaves
That fell on her right cheek upon a tear
With her fingers, she caught the leaf
Palm open, she looked at it without a speech.
A smile spread on her pink lips
For she saw in it a special gift
She wiped her face with the leaf
And turned her face up to the tree.
With a sparkle in her eyes, she said sweetly,
“Thank you. You lost all your flowers recently
Yet you gave me a gift of hope with this leaf
I know now I can take the lead.”
By CarolineCécile, April 24, 2009.
Copyright © Caroline Cécile Delacroix | Year Posted 2009
I do not know?
A path leads,
to where wild grass grows,
sashaying in the summer breeze.
Along the path,
lightness settles within,
feeling the grass,
swaying to the lilting bird-song,
in a dance of intimate abandon,
brushing the remnants of pain away.
Melodies float across fields of green,
delicately caressing my heart,
teasing emptiness to flee,
comforting the mind,
to silently be.
savouring the peace,
a momentary respite,
from the burdens of the now,
all is quiet,
a stillness cradling fractured emotions,
the grass in the fields sway,
nudging dimming light to take leave,
of the day
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013