Poetry in a Pandemic: The eternal life of a tree
Editor's Note: As the pandemic drags on, we turn to nature, photography and writing for solace. The Times has decided to open up space occasionally for residents to share some of their creativity. Email photos and poems to l.howard@theday.com, and tell us something about yourself.
Clusters of children fall from the sky
Bounce, roll, scatter
Squirrels feast bury the rest
Seeds nest
Tiny strings marry the ground
Grow more plentiful
Secure the base
Shoots form, seek the light
Roots bore deeper the tree grows taller
For decades this mammoth rises
Sixty feet tall and as broad
Every year lives its life of change
Bud to leaf, green to yellow
Sends parachutes of color downward
To create autumn’s carpet
Abides cold to revive and begin anew
Scores old, the oak begins to wither
Limbs yield under the weight of the snow
A last gift to the forest,
Homes for insects, nutrition for the soil
The dry trunk residences for woodpeckers
Her children fill the ground anew
With their progenies
Rich beds await them
The womb for the next generation
A life space for the new babies,
Eternal life for the tree
Matthew Borrelli is a retired teacher living at Black Point in Niantic with his wife Andrea, also a retired teacher, and their dachshund Roweena. “I’ve always been an outdoor person,” he writes, “but due to a medical issue, I’m more confined indoors. Since I can’t busy myself with the normal chores of maintaining a house, I started writing to occupy my time.”
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