Not yet dirt,
the outline
of squirrel is still visible
on the hard earth
of the back road—
I step over what remains,
wonder
how many other lives
I’m walking on.
There are infinite ways
to praise,
among them
these words:
I am sorry.
September 26, 2016 by Rosemerry
Not yet dirt,
the outline
of squirrel is still visible
on the hard earth
of the back road—
I step over what remains,
wonder
how many other lives
I’m walking on.
There are infinite ways
to praise,
among them
these words:
I am sorry.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged death, poem, poetry, song | 1 Comment
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Especially love the title on this one!