To the sky, gnarled branches climb.
Patterns chiseled from twisted wood, its ravelled roots clench to the saw-toothed cliffs. Wavelet bark guards from white-capped swells. It's trunk sturdy as-quenched iron, yet so brittle and broken in a child's palm.
Season's change as Mother's wrath goes untamed. Leaves once luscious green turn autumn gold; the wild grass and lichen grow.
Till winter comes, exposing barren bones. Branches dance as gales caress fallen leaves; their seeds sown. East lay the Georgian Strait, the south, Salish Seas--the zephyrs blow.
It's heart sways with the churning tides.
Waters rise, the sky recasting the hues and shades of Day. The stars glow as the sun sinks below. The hourglass now complete. On this the tiny island on which the Garry Oak grows.
YOU ARE READING
Book of Poems
PoetryA book a poems from various styles and subjects. Some, a look into the lives of those other than human. Others, a journey to the past.
