Family Tree
By mshepherd
Sat, 22 Jan 2005
- 346 reads
I am not, will not be,
Wooden.
And stand solidly,
Untouched by everything going on around me,
Or so it seems to be,
You pillar of society,
All very orderly. Ordinary.
No this I will never be.
Grandfather Trunk.
I am not, refuse to become,
Frivolous foliage.
And lay all blame,
On the way the wind has blown,
And end up alone.
No sense of obligation. Ramification.
No, this I won't become.
Leaf Mother.
I am the fruit,
Swollen. Fertile. Quickly maturing,
So stop your cradling. Imprisoning.
On the ground life will begin,
A beak may peel back my skin,
A snout explore the flesh within,
To carry my seed away from you, my kin,
Where I can start again.
I am the fruit.
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