Birch Bark

The birch tree has fallen,
perhaps months ago
and rain and time have broken the carcass,
removing the bark until it hangs loosely
across the trunk,
a piece of art worthy of the original,
a beautiful life after death
waiting for someone,
for you perhaps,
to see.

About this poem

Finding beauty in the broken. It works for trees. It works for people.

Perhaps better for people.

Tom