Where, before,
there was a mosaic of blue
between its leaves, twigs and branches,
now, the scream of the chain-saw
is stilled and all the sky is clear,
save for two doves fluttering,
frantically seeking what had been
a favourite resting place.
Below, raked clean,
save for unrakeable saw-dust,
the earth,
now exposed to the spring sunshine,
warms itself
for the first time in seventy years.
A contest entry
- Grandfather's Tree - afternoon contest by CarolDesjarlais.
525 points, ended March 1, 2007, 10 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Oh, isn't this the truth..unrakeable sawdust indeed..... yes, she is sunburned indeed.
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