These days I’m increasingly aware
of my age, rusty rings rambling
inside, skin splintered, scarred,
limbs crackling, swaying, trembling
in the wind. On this land I stand,
under a sulky, shadowy white sky
cold and indifferent, urging me to
get on with it, a foolish old thing
trapped by time and stars, ignorant
of all things modern – guns, chains,
science that secures souls and slaves
like me, facing death by a thousand
cuts. Silenced, by this river frontier
I thrive, my roots deep and warm,
my voice quiet, haunting, evergreen.
I, who always was, forever will be
a custodian of time, space, spirit.
Image thanks to Victoria’s Giant Trees.
Voices under the Sun 陽光下的聲音 
Feb 25, 2021 @ 15:37:36
This is a beautiful poem, you are a gifted writer. I wonder if you would consider submitting this work or another environmental work to my online creative journal. It’s about endangered species, dissapearing nature. Have included the link to the submit form but you can email me here if you like palmoildetectives@pm.me
https://palmoildetectives.com/