Spring
The oak’s bare limbs scatter the early Spring light onto tender greens. The lichen observes the rabbit, and waits. And the trees listen. The last chilly breeze means nothing to the wing of the robin. Poised, she sings.
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Mother Willow
Mother Willow my heart, my tree. My despair, my self-hate, my worthlessness, take from me. Mother Willow your long branches wrap me, My hope, my self-love, my purpose, help me to see. Like a mother I can only remember, calming, soothing, swaying, holding. You wipe my tears and give me rest. You […]
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