Inaudible, Invisible (sonnet)

Romanticizing the younger Self, we see
Nothing of the beauty in a tree
The bark of which, now twisted, runs the length
Of all its ancient branches, giving strength
To every twig and leaf that dances in
The Summer’s warming sun and gentle wind,
Returning to the soil in each Fall
Of leaves its power to recreate it all.
Our savage culture, recognizing none
Of aging’s beauties, stupidly will run
To mock its wisdoms, kindnesses, and strengths
By any means it can, to any lengths
And, learning nothing, come at last to death,
Grasping at illusions thin as breath.


About janemwoodman

Singer, writer, restaurant reviewer, urban farmer, devoted lover of my husband....old and getting happier all the time.
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