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.

1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. Content Catnip
    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


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