Poem: The Beached Tree

There was a tree
That stood upon the shore
Defiant against the waves
Of winter storm
And summer gale.

For years, I walked
Below high-tide,
Combing the rocks
And shells
For treasures.

I would pass
The tree, gray-green
With salt-tinted
Branches and leaves.

Conch-shells sprouted
From passers-by
Who adorned stubs
With empty shells.

But, the rising tides
And strengthening storms
Toppled the tree
From loss of soil
At it’s root.

Now it lies
Upon the rocks,
Lifeless, except for
The shells that gather
Around it’s fallen branches
With each high-tide.

Twigs break off,
Sun dried in summers season.
Passers-by cut larger
Pieces of branch and root
For twilight or mid-night

Some day I shall
Walk by and
Wonder which high-tide,
Hurricane, or Nor’easter
Picked up the trunk
To return it to the sea.

About hermitsdoor

Up here in the mountains, we have a saying, "You can't get there from here", which really means "We wouldn't go the trouble to do that". Another concept is that "If you don't know, we ain't telling." For the rest, you'll have to read between the lines.
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1 Response to Poem: The Beached Tree

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