Coffee pot gurgle
vibrates through this old house.
Death waits at the door.
We etch our sketch
deep into the heart of the wood.
Ring by ring we form
our tree of life.
Roots dug deep in the dirt,
we reach our arms to the sky,
grasping at dreams,
painting our self portraits,
embracing and rejoicing our domain,
until we come full circle.
As time topples us, we remain as compost,
nurturing, sustaining, guiding
as silent echoes deep within this earth.
come visit me at my other blog.
The Water Witch’s Daughter
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