Poem: A Finger’s Stretch

clipart for A Finger's Stretch

 

                                   Fire dying in upon itself till

                                   all is ash or hearth —

 

                                   undone, we slip into the folds

                                   of dawn – move simply, gently

 

                                   ever on – and where a creviced

                                   rock will stand we lay

 

                                   ourselves upon the land like

                                   melted froth of winter’s snow;

 

                                   and gather to us what will

                                   grow, and gather up this raucous

 

                                   din to settle near and ever in –

                                   nature’s patterned slip towards

 

                                   death the one kept distance

                                   near us, yet we sit here green

 

                                   among the pines where trickles

                                   roar these twining vines.

 

                                                              © Diane Beaty 

 

Please note: The poem is mine, but the photo used to accompany this post is a clipart photo. Unfortunately, I don’t have the photographer’s name.

 

 

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