The Old Tree
Monday, June 30, 2008
This chained lune was written for Poefusion’s Monday Mural, based on the above image. Enjoy.
-Nicole
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The old tree was dying,
her wood drying
as ancient life left her.
The tree has been shelter
for the sculptor -
a cradle of memories.
He remembered afternoons of resting
in her arms,
watching skyward in her branches -
he could not let her go.
He gently carved
a hand from her wood.
He rests in her palm,
watching past branches
which frame the starlit sky;
she will not die now.
In her branches,
he’s a little boy again.
Written 6/29/08
© 2008 Nicole Nicholson. All Rights Reserved.
8 Comments
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You truly do lunes so well. I like the chained ones!
from the palms of my hand, you stand tall
Thank you, gautami.
-Nicole
wow! that is such stunning imagery. i loved it.
Thank you, San.
-Nicole
You have given breath to an old childhood memory of mine with your poem. I loved climbing trees as a child and sitting in the branches or hanging upside down from one. I love the imagery you have portrayed here. Nice job. Have a nice day.
Thank you, Michelle.
-Nicole
This is amazing.
Thank you, Noah.
-Nicole