The Tree Poem by Heather Whitley Gibson
The Tree
dark, cold, lost,
I ran to these things
it's indescribable
to wish you were a bird
and build a five foot nest
inside a dying tree.
I slept in this nest,
safe and warm,
held, quieted, loved
I ran to this tree,
away from my family,
into the dark,
in snow up to five feet.
woods, alone, confined
the only place
I felt love,
caressed by stars,
the cold wind,
protected,
by my mother tree
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/29/2024 8:53:36 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Nice poem i like the mysterious vibe i got while reading it