Poetry: Ron Peat

Poetry: Francine Dvoracek




The sapling still stood
after the ax of a mischievous bystander
claimed its mark.
Many years later
it stood as
a magnificent oak
in which children played,
old people shaded themselves
from the sun
and many generations of birds
nested in its branches.

Some years later
when they chopped it down
I noticed the scar of the ax
among its rings.
forgotten - thought not obliterated
by many years of growth.
Yet to the seasons
toward which it lifted its branches
for change
and to those that loved it,
the scar went quite unnoticed.