Like hands
Clinging to a lost ideal
Roots
Hold on to soil.
From the branches of the hanged
Bodies sway
Under the heaving northern sky
A never ending
Barbaric pendulum
Keeping the world in time.
And I
Mud covered feet
Kicking tree stumps
In the rain
Think of growing
With leaves un-sheared.
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This post is part of a series on trees. Submit your tree features to snakeoilcure[at]gmail[dot]com.
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William North is a poet based in Chester in the UK. This is his first contribution to Snake-Oil Cure.
Dr. Hurley's Snake-Oil Cure 