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Mother's Promise

Mother's Promise

Early morning light flickers brilliant red, yellow and orange off the pond

The hunters have worn a quite path under their feet as they wind through my brothers and sisters in a morning pursuit

I stand, mostly stripped of cover as the sun arcs overhead

Late afternoon squirrels scramble across mother's floor; decaying life that gives off a sound only she can produce

Sun sets and the smell of wood fires and hot cocoa warm my weakened senses

A crisp wind sways the mast; the last dying breath breaks free from my branch and falls asunder

We shall meet again, as I sleep now, wrapped in a white coat to nurture me through a darkened time

Until the stirring of youth and exuberence; of a young daisy, pulled from a dormant floor by a beam of warmth

Taking its first breath from natures renewal of life


Tim Wallace

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