Anew: To the Tolkien Tree
Remember how he came and how he went,
Born far away the flakes of your soft bark,
A quartered apple in the muse’s hand,
The evergreen fond memory, our spark.
Up, up, up
Into the errant autumn winds.
Leaves stutter in the gust – a maudlin dance,
The whisper of time’s awl.
Up, up
Rend your unsightly pining skin,
Become a lute, a cup, a battle lance.
There is no infamy in such a fall.
Up
The wheel has turned where grief and branches lay.
Remember how he passed and how he stayed -
Small things through which the darkness’s kept at bay.
Copyright © Anna Milon | Year Posted 2015
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