Firewood
For two years the oak
loomed, leafless.
We had aged
together, but somehow
I survived the drought
and ice storms, the
regret and wilt,
the explosions within,
and it did not.
I do not know
the rituals of trees,
how they mourn
a passing, or if
the sighs I hear
betray only my own
frailties, but even
as I fuel the saw and
tighten the chain,
I look carefully
for new growth.
“Firewood” is included in my chapbook, From Every Moment a Second.
Your 2nd stanza tugs at my heart cords, everytime I your ‘Chapbook’ Robert ..A beautifully emotional piece ..
LikeLiked by 3 people
Thanks so much, Ivor!
LikeLiked by 2 people
A most wonderful and thoughtful poem, Robert: haunting. And thanks to Ivor for pointing me to it.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks very much, Ingrid. I’ve yet to forge bonds with any trees in my new home, but that will come…
LikeLiked by 2 people
Give it time 🙂
LikeLiked by 2 people
Yes! It will happen.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Always good to read this one. Happy New Year, Bob! Hope you are well!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, PJ. And Happy New Year to you, too. Life is good here!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautifully written
LikeLike