James Hacker
As a lumberjack,people came askin' for me,
a tree on the house, a cat in a tree.
Never did like trees;
they always get in the way.
A tree's what killed me;
no one even shouted, "Timeber,"
and at my funeral they placed a seed
upon my plot, no gravestone, no epitaph,
nothin' except the tree.
Fifty years later,
damn tree's still gettin' in my way.
Poetry by Phill
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Written on 2008-12-17 at 05:00
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liz munro |
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by Phill Latest textsSomething Less Than PoetryScar Tissue Musings #349 Musings #328 Musings #327 |
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