Since the warm winds
I will no longer sit amongst bluebells,
or feel the gentle touch of
a hairstreaks wing
bathing on my arm in the sun
... I stand alone.
Since the winds
I will no longer see snowflakes drift,
hear laughter as children play,
running beneath me
in the winter chill
In this autumn wind
tree spirits linger
watching old friends die
while the urgent call of nuthatches echo
lost in the sound of chainsaws
I hear them call
I see them fly...
As I turn to stone.
© Nicollette Foreman
Ash dieback summit brings tree experts together
Runner up in the Ninth International Poetry Competition, published in Dawn Treader; Sentinel Poetry Movement , First Writer, and further anthologies Nicollette loves a challenge and enjoys writing in different styles.
