How I cried
Heartbroken, I sighed
You were prone, dead.
A warrior, the fight over;
An emptiness washed over me,
No longer would you stand
With others guarding the land
Cleansing the air
That other may be fed.
Was it me, were my winter winds too strong
Did my frosts cover you too long
Destroying the roots
That held you to the earth?
You were young, had a life to live:
I scatter your acorns to the land
Saplings will grow as nature planned.
As I weep, this promise I will keep;
As spring arises,
To cover the earth with fresh surprises
The earth will warm
Your saplings grow to heal the earth
Cover the land with your rebirth.
Poetry and credit by:
Cheryl O’Brien 2022 ©
Riga’ by Vera Bondare