Fitting boards together..from the souls of slaughtered trees
The maker of the fallens holder...stops...
Deeply in..he breathes
Knew..did he..this taken one
His sire...known as well
He's set upon their porch...had tea
At whence they used to dwell
And..granting shade from noonday's heat
The mighty pine did grow
Standing..so eternally...till
So strong.. the westwind blows
It landed.. on the destined one
And shattered into pieces
Now...milled to board to hold the passed
The maker... sees the reason..
For a prayer
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Author:
James Perrin (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 13th, 2026 02:09
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 28
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments3
Nicely worded with rhyme and quaint wording it sets the scene and tells its story of irony and darkness. I loved it and a fave
Tx soren
I was my pleasure Boot
A fine write, much enjoyed
Thank you
most welcome
Oh, damn, James. That's a hell of a coincidence to contemplate. Life has some terribly cruel ironies, doesn't it? This one gave me the chills. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thanks Tristan
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