Old Cedar  

Old cedar,
Lying prone in the meadow,
You hurt my heart.
Your scars
From the winter weight
Of ice
Bring tears.
Tiny, tender grass blades
Peek
From among your sad wreckage.
A purple flower
Rests
Its velvet cheek
Against your broken side.
Oh, my heart, it cries...
You should not be
Dead...
Not in........SPRING!

 

Jo Anzalone

(This was written when I was a teenager on the farm in SC.  We had had an ice storm and the huge cedar tree...really, really BIG...had broken. In the spring, I was walking around it and saw a small flower touching its bark and this poem was the result.)

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