Saturday, November 21, 2015


Letting Go

Children shuffle through leaves:
Oak, poplar, maple.
Are the leaves happy to bring joy,
Or do they feel disrespected;
Consigned to the rope-swing landing pile,
At the end of its short shady path;
Do they feel shame at being brought so low,
Or gratitude when it gets cold,
And kids are playing in snow,
Outside the wood, where it lies thick.
Mulch around other plants,
They flutter weakly in the north wind,
Hoping to fly back to their natal twigs.

That rope swing was really cool, Dad.

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