Bare branches call to me,
striven of their summer glory
by the winds of autumn.
Crows mock their barrenness
from nearby rooftops
as burnt orange remnants
cling for these last few days
before falling to earth.

Below the asphalt
there is another dark
where lifeblood drops
into the old patience.
There time is for dreaming,
gathering strength
amidst the loss
of what once flowered,

as roots sink deep
to the inner life
of stone and soil,
and seeds of the future
wait in darkness.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

8 Responses

  1. A fine poem – roots sink deep and bare branches speak of the one invisible presence that flows throughout from dreamtime inner life. Thank you Don for this rich gift

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