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Rated: E · Poetry · Biographical · #2272105
A tree came down in a storm...
Imprints



Gnarled ancient oak
well-rooted lost its fight
against the last storm
even though it had stood
for generations.

Now it will become fire-wood--
the logs were cut, split, stacked--
a wall along the back fence.
Fifteen face chords
will sing warmly.

I couldn't help but notice
the rings upon rings
upon rings upon rings
of age
and drought,
of flood and feast.

Spring cleaning meant
clean windows erased
months of woodsmoke,
wet puppy paws
and fingerprints.

And yet there was already
new fingerprints
upon the glass. Life just
keeps going and
sometimes it's messy.

I couldn't help but notice
the rings upon rings
upon rings upon rings
of age
and work,
calluses and scars.

We move through life
leaving our fingerprints
in mud, on hearts,
changing or rearranging
our landscape of life.

Encircling ourselves with ancestors
and children, love ties cords
keeping us together so no one
gets lost or left behind no matter
distance of any kind.

I couldn't help but notice
the rings upon rings
upon rings upon rings
of age
and time,
of the way we circle
in the dance.

Tree prints,
fingerprints
imprinted.





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