I'm softly changing colors...
As my tree betrays it's mood
Shorn of foot..yet still it brings
A feeling..to the room
Living on..while dying
Adorned...by packaged roots
Silver strings..bulbs colored...sing
A tinny song of peace
Lost..it seems..the meaning
In the glare of what's become
My tree...and me...soon parting ways
One is done...the father's son..
Remains
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Author:
James Perrin (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 25th, 2025 04:36
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 24
Offline)
Comments1
The disadvantage of a real tree and its death throes as it pine's away dropping needles in a yellow retreat. A good write. Loved it
Thanks..you actually read and comment on my poems..I appreciate it
You are most welcome
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