C.R.S., P.W.W., Continuation of Death
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
His tree is here. His tree is here. Long years
Before we met, the redwood soared above
Our heights, combined, and now long years, long tears
(Much later) it is lasting past his love.
The lone dwarf acer that I planted for
His memory still moves numbly in the breeze
Beneath my bedroom window. Long before
He kissed my life away with just on tease
The acers have been turning colors in
The spring, the summer and the fall like he
Has turned to death. This makes his greatest sin.
The trees and I now face the same, we three.
The acer turns from bare to darkened red
And then to flame in autumn. Feel the dread.
Charles the tree surgeon 
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