Poems ✍️

Twas just a little twig,

torn from the trunk

a victim of the storm.

When raging winds

chased clouds of snow

from Yukon's fields

into the continent,

there was no time

though much resolve

to stick to the old trunk,

a hundred years it had,

with pride

stood tall

shrugged off the wars,

the droughts

and now the Yukon ice,

the twig let go

as if to say

tis someone else's show.

And as it tumbled

through the city's smog,

it faced its sudden death,

and with a shrug

it braced itself

and shut its cortex down....

She wore a gown,

of such exquisite lace

that he took note

and followed her,

in weightless flight

until she landed in the shrubs.

He watched,

suspended in a fork

of a she-oak,

saw dewdrops fall

and tears of joy

and touches deep,

and when he woke

there was no sound,

though he was sure

that Paradise on earth,

it had been found.