PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The snag stands lonely in the marsh
and dreams of seasons he has seen,
of countless winters long and harsh
and summers sunlit and serene.

Once he gleamed in Lincoln green,
spread his branches high and wide,
graced the banks of the alder stream,
tall and proud on the riverside.

Now his boughs are bleak and bleached.
His flanks are draped in old man's beard.
Where once his strong arms skyward reached,
a shriveled splinter has appeared.

Though Time has dealt the snag his toll,
it's only Man who fears Time's passing.
The snag cares not as years unfold.
His Time is short, yet everlasting.