Healing

Three years after the ice storm
Had laid its heavy burden down
In the arms of this pine, pinning
Them to its body. breaking some,
The lowest leaning on the ground,

Boughs have healed and spread
To my eaves where they scratch
In echoes of an old-fashioned
Fountain pen on white leaves,
Each of us writing our histories.





Poetry by countryfog
Read 474 times
Written on 2011-03-10 at 17:23

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
The entire poem is fine, but the comparison of the scratching boughs with the sound of a fountain pen is what I like most. That never would have occurred to me.
2011-03-12


ngaio Beck
well done.Stoic!
2011-03-11


John Ashleigh The PoetBay support member heart!
These words have inspired me. You have a knack for creating something unique and driven to the point. A dance of imagery in my head. Thankyou for sharing.

Regards,
John.
2011-03-10