(1) <br /> <br />Unlike the Oak tree you age daily. <br />No two hundred years of death for <br />you to understand and perfect. <br />Day by day you become a little <br />more transparent, I can see just <br />how sharp and strange your bones <br />have become. Your eyes sparkle <br />with the knowledge of age, yet too <br />often are they dimmed by the dust <br />of time. Your wedding ring rest upon <br />your heaving chest, no longer can it <br />wrap itself around your wrinkled thin <br />fingers. Many mornings have you <br />embraced the sun, countless clumps <br />of soil have you thrown into the dark. <br /> <br />(2) <br /> <br />Where do you go when your eyes lead <br />themselves to the window and beyond. <br />Are you skimming stones across the <br />choppy Thames, or hiding from Hilda <br />behind the bombed out bunker. <br />Are you hugging Grandad in the street <br />as your tears wash the foriegn soil <br />from his war weathered face. <br />Are you holding me for the first time. <br /> <br />(3) <br /> <br />Your cigaratte placed perfectly between <br />your fingers hisses with inpatience. <br />Its ash, still in shape reminds me of a <br />worm turned to stone. You return to us <br />with a long sigh, and a silent shudder. <br />You light up and for a moment look like <br />mother, for you unlike the Oak tree <br />remembers every leaf that falls.<br /><br />Not Long Left<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/unlike-the-oak-tree/
