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oak-tree-image

The Tree and I
© B. Luceigh, 9/2016

When I am gone from Earth,
ashes spread,
and others sit as I now do,
on the deck of my country home,
will the same oak trees, sensing them, remember me?

Remember how I trimmed their dead branches,
enjoyed their shade,
watched the woodpeckers steal their acorns,
exchanged stares with a camouflaged owl?

After I am gone from Earth,
will these trees hold memories of me
locked in their trunks?
Are they recording me in cellulose
as we share today’s sunrise?

Someday when I am long forgotten by humans
and a tree near this deck ages and dies,
maybe someone sitting where I now sit will cut the wood
and find inner rings of memories labelled
“Betty lived here.”

After the wood is finally burned,
ashes spread,
then no one will ever know
that in this present time by then long past,
the tree and I co-existed
and cherished our precious living moments
together.

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