Not Long Left
Unlike The Oak Tree - Poem by Not Long Left
Unlike the Oak tree you age daily.
No two hundred years of death for
you to understand and perfect.
Day by day you become a little
more transparent, I can see just
how sharp and strange your bones
have become. Your eyes sparkle
with the knowledge of age, yet too
often are they dimmed by the dust
of time. Your wedding ring rest upon
your heaving chest, no longer can it
wrap itself around your wrinkled thin
fingers. Many mornings have you
embraced the sun, countless clumps
of soil have you thrown into the dark.
Where do you go when your eyes lead
themselves to the window and beyond.
Are you skimming stones across the
choppy Thames, or hiding from Hilda
behind the bombed out bunker.
Are you hugging Grandad in the street
as your tears wash the foriegn soil
from his war weathered face.
Are you holding me for the first time.
Your cigaratte placed perfectly between
your fingers hisses with inpatience.
Its ash, still in shape reminds me of a
worm turned to stone. You return to us
with a long sigh, and a silent shudder.
You light up and for a moment look like
mother, for you unlike the Oak tree
remembers every leaf that falls.
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