Dying trees easily fall..
Poems, too, as they should.
Dead wood rots from which
One good poem may grow,
The better to hear in the higher
Branches, the creaking lower limbs.
Sequestering lovers late afternoon
Whisper. One is carving the bark,
A crude heart with names within.
Now unread, unspoken but for the overgrown
Path, a bark-less scar now where was the heart,
Without thought, without desire, write only this,
'How arms entwine, how branches break'.
poem will grow and will have branches Beautiful poem will grow with fruits This poem won't break
Packed with profoundity. Well done my friend.
I am confused. You used visuals(the tree) but also bluntly stated the comparison (poetry) . Is this the right way?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
One of you best, Warren. Heartbreaking. Muchas gracias. Joan Woodbridge