All these years later, every time a leaf flutters down, I remember this poem. What can I say but - Dear me!
Alone under the tree
Waiting for my fruit to fall
Softly, slowly I call -
Break free ...
I look down at my clasped hands
At my body cold damp and bare
Shading me from the sun's glare
The tree stands.
I look up and the sun pierces my eyes -
And beneath me the stones my skin
Quietly, silently, deep within
My heart cries.
Something has broken apart
My fruit my future is here -
I reach out to hold it near!
A dead leaf lands on my heart.
(written on March 26th, 1985, 9:40 p.m.
204 W. South, MO)
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