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old-oak-tree…wrenches hang from nails like icicles, Ooo! Love this. Really am loving getting to know S.T.’s big oak tree! I wonder if it has a name… Please stop by and check out his blog. I can guarantee you’ll find some poetry on there to make you think or tickle your fancy! 😀

Writing With Some Ink and a Hammer

Diligence? Laziness? Both are needed, now and then.

Complacency of My Bones

Beneath the big oak
that shades the tool shed
where the mower sleeps
and wrenches hang

from nails like icicles,
I’ll listen for the tree’s heart,
just one thump, one deep thunk,
lay my hand on its rutted hide,

and, with the patience of the grass
that sprouts between its roots,
I’ll wait for its pulse to shatter
the complacency of my bones.

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