Following the Marsh Line,
not stepping,
but sliding
through the Water's edge
leaving wake but no sound
wondering as I walk
about the tamarack
and what Myths,
if any,
have been told by Fire
to Inspire, to Warn
a Lesson learned
in the Desolate and Forlorn
back to the barbed wire,
Yellow as Corn
waiting to be Reborn
the only Pine that truly pines
for the warmth of Spring
to Restore Life to withered limbs
was it Choice
or was it Chosen
in that Long Ago Forgotten,
one of the Shunned,
The Misbegotten
with no place given
to call its own
but ever alongside the Bog,
the Few, sparse
rising from the Fog
as the Frogs begin
their mockery in Spring
why so Accursed,
why this Doom,
this Dirge must they sing?...
March 25, 2015
March 25, 2015
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