Wind-shook, gnarled tree,
bastion of Earth’s slow breath
and Spring’s sap rising,
you are brave
and I, at best, am brief.
There are no such things
as small deaths. Dreams
die hard; wisdom
is a slow learning.
Having long since flown
the nest, I return at last
to embrace these roots.
Pitching Pennies Poetry
the work of smzang
Beautiful!
I’m glad it caught your eye.
Thank you!
I love this. There are no such things as small deaths. That was such a great line.
You are so kind.
Thank you!