The Lone Dead TreeMiner PoetJun 02, 202635114ShareText within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedThe lone dead tree juts up like a blackened tooth. Silent as broken clock, limbs pointed toward midnight. Over a field of green. Under a still sky of blue.
Even the dead are surrounded by love. They just don’t know it. Always good to read the Master of Compression.
As the author points to hope.
Glad you’re still writing :).