I feel a kindred spirit to druids of old,
The protector of trees and stories they told,
Where are they today when so sorely needed?
I cry for dead wood clear cut as their progeny pleaded,
"Stop the killing," screamed acorns to deaf ears,
Except a few oak saplings overcome by tears,
Then a glimmer of hope as samara seeds helicopter in,
Wind flies them to points of purchase in barren soil to our chagrin,
Our sin mitigated by universal divinity,
Correcting mistakes and misunderstood stupidity,
Grandpa Walton said plant three for every one we harvest,
So if we just pay heed our mother won't be forced to starve us.
Farls Tokley
YOU ARE READING
Bark Has Bite feat. Carbuncles
PoetryA mixed bag, next handful a whole new ball game. This collection of poems was born from Sunday drives with parents as a kid and doing the same with my son. It's fun to listen to our favourite music and watch the scenery fly by. As a teenager and yo...
