Orchard

Orchard

My heart is an orchard, with soft,

loamy soil to dig your fingers

into. Each tree has a name, and

each name has roots, some longer than

others, some younger still. A couple

trees have been selected for

execution, roots and all yanked

from the earth, my heart. These pits, these

empty spaces eventually

get filled again with dirt, and a

sapling is planted anew. A mark

is always left, however; some

rooted veins remain.

---

Friends. It's been a while. I apologize - life grows busier with each day. 

This poem was prompted by an event that occurred a little over a year ago that rocked my world. This was my analogy for the results. Some rare poetry for you today. 

Enjoy!
V