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Pine MAG
April 23, 2014
You said I was your pine tree,
Tall and strong,
With ballerina branches
Swaying in the wind.
Overflowing with sweet-smelling needles,
The soft kind,
That enveloped me like a faux fur coat.
You'd lay beside my trunk
And whisper dear nothings into my bark.
Mindlessly dissecting fallen needles
That once grew from open-armed branches
That sheltered you from an infinite supply
Of blistering winter suns.
© Alison S., Eau Claire, WI
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