Friday, September 19, 2008

Birth of a Tree

Troubled dreams
whirl in rushing
wind, stifling the
scream of trees.


Cold hands
clutching slapping
branches, shattered
bark embedded
into tender flesh.


Toes find root in
slick wet earth,
oak arms raised in
the roaring storm.


Freshly minted leaves
shine in air electric
as a night bird sings
upon it’s sturdy limbs.

1 comment:

Ralph Murre said...

Good piece, Rose

Good peace, Rose