Messy Trees Poem by james watkin

Messy Trees



How often the hand disclosed
Of an abberant toss
Washes itself of its guilt!
Including this twigged; for spilt
Yellowed, crinkled up dross.

Messy are trees, but no sap
Runs sour in Earth's veins!
Knows they struggle, stomping down
Heavy-rooted, what embrown.
Its wormy health maintains.

Wednesday, November 13, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: autumn
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
james watkin

james watkin

Melbourne Australia
Close
Error Success