Sunday, May 17, 2015

The View From Forty-Two

My son exclaimed
Just the other day.
You— You look
Like a tree!
He chortled, then,
At the offense:
This green shirt,
Those brown pants.

I was delighted.
When I am old
I hope the boy,
Grown to man,
Sees value
In weathered skin
Like bark,
In hair so white
It might cap
Even rogue waves,
In ropy-veined legs
Working overtime,
Bulging, and blushing,
With dedicated effort.

And all that day
I felt strong.
Proud, to provide
Shade, and a moment
Or two to contemplate
For a wanderer
Who might weep, grateful,
To find me sturdy,
To find me

written in 2010

1 comment:

Mary Gilmour said...

We have an old, old apple tree in the yard, all twisted up and gnarled and bumpy. Crowned with white blossom at present and a haven for birds and a treat for bees.
I would like to think we are kin, the tree and I.