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The Wood ©

Stella
Fife, Scotland
2004

Beech trees reach as tall as spires
In a row planted for us by those
Who now rest
The path straight ahead leads
To a clearing where only if we look upward
Can we see the sky

An old oak missed by those who needed
Battleships
Leans over in his pension years
Is supported by lesser wood laid
By men who understand the value
Of preservation

In spring verdant hues burst
No matter what is going on
In the wider world
nests are built and filled
Fledglings fly yet stay nearby
Until the day a whisper tells
Go further. Your wings will carry you


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