Mortal


Trees look self-sufficient—
immortal—
yet leaves, in a curling
grasp of want and wait
reach and fall.

A tree slumps
leafless
mid-summer.

Drought reminds,
we forget.
Our thirst
easily quenched.

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Poems in the series “Waiting for Rain” are still in process, now appearing only here on this blog.

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Joining those writing a poem day during NaPoWriMo.
National Poetry Month.


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