An Old Tree
By: Olivia Wagner
The trees are changing
From mellow green to vibrant red,
From mother’s embrace to the world’s frigid hands
They know their end.
Darkness descends,
With death singing in the breeze,
As cold mist falls,
It brings sickness, a disease.
I know an Old Tree
With roots deeper than the sea.
Maybe I was just a moment in your life,
But you were my eternity.
A little girl watches from the street,
With frozen tears upon her cheek;
She gazes up at the tree.
Oh no.
That little girl is me.
From mellow green to vibrant red,
From mother’s embrace to the world’s frigid hands
They know their end.
Darkness descends,
With death singing in the breeze,
As cold mist falls,
It brings sickness, a disease.
I know an Old Tree
With roots deeper than the sea.
Maybe I was just a moment in your life,
But you were my eternity.
A little girl watches from the street,
With frozen tears upon her cheek;
She gazes up at the tree.
Oh no.
That little girl is me.
Writer's Statement: I lost my Grandpa last year. I did not know how to express myself and was truly a novice at poetry, but something I said at his funeral stood out to me in my grieving process, "I wanted to take something that felt so ugly and turn it into something beautiful." Grief is no pretty ordeal and will never be, however, I still wrote three poems about him in an attempt to articulate these "ugly" feelings. This one was written the day he died.