Though Lovely Is Her MemoryA Poem by Chris Shaw
Across the lea a north wind blows,
soon follows on soft swirling snow to cover where the grass grows green. Into the distance, there alone and flanked between a wall of stone, stooped low and twisted leans a tree. Her branches bend, her branches ache, caked heavy, burdened they will break or wait for warmth to set her free? Throughout the winter, chill and bleak her ageing limbs are weary, weak, and shiver in the biting cold. Long gone those russets, gone the golds, the rustle of October bolds, in skirts that danced in autumn breeze. Alas the verdant green in spring will not adorn her frame again nor will her blossom gently fall. No living thing is built to last like us this tree was doomed to pass, though lovely is her memory.
© 2018 Chris ShawFeatured Review
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Added on April 19, 2018Last Updated on April 19, 2018 AuthorChris ShawBerkshire, United KingdomAboutAlbert, my paternal grandfather introduced me to Tennyson when I was nine. I have loved poetry ever since but did not attempt writing a single piece until I was 40. It's never too late to try somethin.. more..Writing
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