| Sunday, December 16, 2007 9:47AM | | | | The Woodsman, Death | Posted By: Boria Sax
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| Tags: ageing, tree, death, poetry | THE WOODSMAN, DEATH
For a man, there is “death.”
For a tree, we need another word,
For that flash of extinction
May last until an infant
Tells a story to his granddaughter
And is buried by his son.
What is death? What is life?
Before the soul has departed from a tree,
Worms nibble at the corpse,
And squirrels leap through the outstretched hands.
Bees make their home inside the ribs,
And sparrows nest in the skull.
The tree welcomes such travelers
Without regret or pain.
Though appendages may crack
Burst, crumble, and decay,
The spirit can yet ordain
A last, irrevocably final, leaf,
A message for the soil...
Boria Sax (c) 2007 | | | |
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