A tree
Soft-splintered at the agitation of its growth,
Fallen–mere hardness now–across
The pathway.

The barrenness comes:
Oh, the winter of death.
(My dear, always be green grass joyful,
Sunshine miracles, crystalline blue;
Darling, love like a rose shall kiss
It better . . . )

The tree
Undone. (Oh, life is but
A dream.) Ended
As your brothers and sisters sway.

Copyright 2012 by Michael Marsters.
All rights reserved.


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