I am the ancient Maple outside my window
rooted and reaching. I am the leaves green,
gold, gone.
I am limbs both strong and broken,
twigs scattered on the ground
after the storm, wind still rustling
my giant petticoat.
I am ivy crawling up my trunk. I am living
witness to the street before it became a street,
to all lives lived in your 150-year-old house
and to the land before that.
I am your beginning and ending, shadow
and light, shelter and shade.
Linda McCauley Freeman
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1 Comment

  1. Rebecca Whitman

    Lovely poem!
    I love all the personification (especially the petticoat) for the tree.
    I also love the delicate way you imply how old the maple tree is.
    It is beautiful, light, and feminine with a hint of dark at the end. This poem is like curling up with a knitted blanket and a cup of coffee on a rainy day.

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