Sunday, September 1, 2019


A tree that slants
Across this street
Points me home,
Marking as it leans
Where I must turn.

Through the years
It’s been mangled
Time on time
By careless hands
Yet still it lives.

Should that day come
When it disappears
I fear I will be lost
And doubt I’ll learn
My way again.

©2019 John I. Blair, 8/6/2019

Click on author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.

No comments:

Post a Comment