sense of place

by Peter Humphreys

alone indeed
except for squirrels

the marsh
the Spree
slowly twisting
turning effortlessly
flowing north

I look up
I look down
the river path
and nothing stirs
even the heron
to seduce its prey

I wonder
I just wonder
would anyone miss me
more than for
a short while

perhaps I could
become someone else
or even better
something else
this monstrous beauty
I lean against

broken by storms
split by lightning
a home in home
for the tiniest
to the largest
bald in winter
green caped in summer
spreading my seeds

generation after generation
decades nay centuries
lovers will remember
this tree
its luscious bark
its sense of place
a support for loving

alone indeed
except for the squirrels


Posted on 06/15/2016
Copyright © 2024 Peter Humphreys

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by George Hoerner on 06/22/16 at 02:40 AM

Very lovely my friend.

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