CKC (1970 / Pittsburgh PA)


My fingers stretch upward
Each a thousand lengths, capable
of holding nest and kite
My skirt tread-bare and brown
speckled by my shedding coife
Brown and golden, a hint of red within
baring my bark, grey and scored
from the adventurers who challenged
my limbs to hold them
-even for a while.
My gardens no longer tended
-resolute constitution-
Abashed by the forsaken gardeners
abandoned so long ago
They walk past me now -
-all of them.
Noone taking the time to look
up towards the heavens
to reach with the sky
None to climb the regence
of my boughs
Yes, 'too busy, ' that, must do.
As my rings add on,
they are all memory, now.
This must do, to be content.
The gardener's, their time now spent,
with saplings and pageants
of blooms in footbeds
closer to the ground
where kites lay grounded.
No wind to tarry them up to me.
My fingers stretch upward,
my skirt tread-bare and brown.
Mercy. Mercy, Time!
You have forgotten me.

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