Two Poems by Douglas Polk
Morning Drizzle
a morning drizzle,
raindrops,
soft and tender,
fall to the ground,
bring to mind,
tears by a graveside,
celebrating a long gentle life,
now done,
the magic unending,
alive in the rain.
The Cottonwood
biggest tree in the county,
almost a first memory,
here when great grandfather first settled,
a lonely sentinel on the plains,
a meeting spot in the day,
picnics and church revivals,
now more a memory,
than an actual tree,
trunk rotten,
dead branches on the ground.
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