Tuesday, March 26, 2013

A tree came down in my front yard,
I’d never noticed it ‘til now,
Its rugged trunk, its ragged bough
Had kept the sun from shining hard.
It was this tree diffused the light,
Its limbs selecting out which beams
Should enter, in bright-ribbon streams,
Our fronted rooms, to light them right.
It served its purpose quietly –
Living, I never gave it aught
Except indifference, never thought,
But dying, made its mark on me.
This is a sketch of my son, Chip, age about 6.

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