Wind
roars through the valley,
the leaves cling to their trees,
holding on for dear life.
But the wind is too strong,
and soon they are lost to the storm.
Rain pelts anything reachable,
thunder scares away everything else.
The squirrels hide in their nests,
curled up with eyes squeezed shut.
Terror fills every inch of their bodies
but there is nothing to be done.
Only to wait,
til the storm passes.
winter's coming on fast-
better chop enough wood.
pluck the last fruits of the harvest-
then say goodnight to the garden,
resting under a blanket of leaves and love.
In the vet's office.
My bunny, sedated.
They are coming soon with the second shot.
She had a good life. I hope she finds peace.
I'm going to miss her so much.
I love you, Whisper. I'm sorry.
Do you think people 100 years ago, in rural Vermont, looked up at the sky, at the milky way, the moon and all the stars? Do you think they marveled at them, and taught their children the constellations?
Comments
This poem is perfectly constructed. Not a word feels out of place. You capture a snap shot of a moment... and the wind moving through that moment!
Thank you so much! This is my first published work so that means a lot.
Congratulations on your first publication! I can't wait to read more from you!
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