Do Not Follow

Do not follow me with your eyes,
nor provide condescending
intentions, with sad metaphors and
tales of forgotten memories, about
this farm which was ravaged by the
sun and other beasties. Do not allow
any sympathy for the scene before
you, of a fallen elm, now grafted
with good intentions, wild rose bush
am I, seeking recognition in the
sun’s advancing stare, as my first
born buds entwined themselves into
the bark of a dying member of the
forest, felled by lightning, yet
sparked by a natural will to survive.

© Richard L. Provencher