Friday, January 22, 2016

The Ancients

Bending her limbs towards the ground

The old tree sighed.

Only two remained and she

Was badly misshapen.

A cold wind

And age

Had dismember the other branches

Gophers gnawed at the gnarled old roots

But still

She had managed one last small harvest

Can I try again?

One more year?

Do I have the strength?

Sixty seven years

My tree and I

But we had the sweetest apples.

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