Two trees stand up a hill
Last freezing barks of cone
trembling, away from home
Together rigid still
Entwined to roots by will
Unseen His rotting spine
Our bond, slipping and gone
Last tree atop the hill
Long of a time cast cold
A pine grew small to soil
beside a seed so old
Awaits what fate warmth hold
Destiny ends it all
Two trees grew and went home
Poetry for World Lit. subject
©The Pink Merman
Pacific-Atlantis Mermen Journal
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