January 9, 2008
By Tammy Cook, La Valle, WI

Silent a grave rests above the ground.
A giant oak casts a shadow upon the tombstone.
Bare branches whisper in the darkness,
as leaves rustle on the calm forest floor.
The silver moon’s ray reflects off the crisp frost.
Six feet under the coffin lies.
The tree’s roots tangle around the casket like a spiral stairway,
a pathway leading the blind soul to freedom.
A vision of life still lingers on,
for above the surface still silently stands that tree,
its own survival dependent on the deceased below.

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