Ancient trees
Ancient corridors
Speak your history to me
Tough and solid
Not a fright in height
Explicit surrender
You are might
Your company I miss
Of solidarity
The beaver pond
Is hidden now
Behind pale green metal
So high, no one could climb
Your limbs have fallen
Your strong trunks
Chipped and chopped
Into sawdust
Sadness, asthma, pollen
On high
Interstate 400
Our FernGully you are
A reservoir of iniquity
Killing us all ©
Karen L. Fleming, 9.12.26
My poetry book has 5-star reviews, and it's available on Amazon. Through the Silent Caldera.
