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Elbow Tree pt. I: Thousands Have Sat
Folder:
Extended Poetry Under the tree
Thousands have sat
Making their first times special
Making their last times to remember
Age never slowed this ancient tree
For he never ever moves, being a tree
Bony branches fray off
Bony as the elbows it bends on
Under the ancient tree
Nothing ever lasts
Everything just never was and never will
The branches strand so stout and still
Bent like elbows ‘round the corners
Rules are meant to be bent
Like hinges on a door
On the inchworm’s spine
Crawling up the bony branches
Spaces are meant to be filled
Like the minds under the tree
Like an etch-a-sketch shaken up and stirred
The elbow tree bends around our needs
Winds around the crooked trail
With crooked elbows and a crooked little cane
