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March 31, 2013

Seasoned by sun – by rain –
by half a century.

I remember –

Summers of bright blossoming,
and the quiet autumn fade.
Crisp winter inhalation,
and the freshness of spring.

Cut down –
I am unseasoned.

Sliced –
we are left only this slow death of drying sap,
wrapped against beetles.

[Sunday Scribblings]

9 Comments leave one →
  1. April 1, 2013 12:28 am

    This is lovely! I live where the timber companies still clear-cut our beautiful evergreen forests. Sad and true!

    • April 1, 2013 8:54 am

      That is sad! Thank you for stopping by to read and comment. x

  2. April 1, 2013 9:40 am

    Writers are great personifiers of the natural world. Why not? If the value of it’s beauty can somehow be preserved.

    • April 1, 2013 10:13 am

      Indeed. One of the first poems I remember studying at school is Keats’ “To Autumn”.

  3. April 1, 2013 12:25 pm

    Lovely, but sad. I suppose that is one good thing to say about computers, and sites like this one; we can get our words down and out and about without needing any trees to be cut down for paper. Long live Cloudland!

    • April 1, 2013 8:01 pm

      Amen to that!

  4. April 2, 2013 1:51 am

    This is a lonely sad piece. My favorite lines are:
    “Crisp winter inhalation,
    and the freshness of spring.”
    Those lines draw me in, taking me from bystander to participant.
    Very nice!

    • April 2, 2013 7:15 am

      Thank you! I don’t often write poetry so this is very encouraging 🙂

  5. April 7, 2013 3:56 pm

    Back when I lived in North Carolina I remember they’d cut down trees to make way for construction but the projects always seemed to fall through and those areas just became a wasteland (they were never cleaned up after), it was always so sad to me to see.

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