i stand beneath-
thy broken arms
which once stretched so lovingly
towards thy father sun.
thy broken branches now do rest-
upon the ground, midst leaves and stones
for thy sister storm came by
and took thine arms and thy branches-
stole thy leaves away
but tis no trouble, i hear thou utter-
for there is always another year to grow.
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
i love this poem, and all of the imagery! :)
Aww thanks!
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