New Audio: Mother, Great Pine

Mother, Great Pine,

Stretching in her years.

Needles springing from craggy trunk

In need of water.

Branches reaching for cloud mist.

Perches for birds with nests

Gathered in crevices hidden by owls.

Her hair of needles

Cracks in Sun’s heat

And breaks in Sun’s breath.

Her roots dig into springs

Dried to stain on parched sand,

Blown to rock in forgotten forests,

Where memories remain.

Mother, Great Pine,

Life marks its initials

On tattered bark

Dressing her soul.

Her shadow marks a path

For Time to travel

Dawn to dusk

Without fail.


Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard






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