Ode to the Live Oak Tree

Late spring, early summer.
the changing of the guard.
The Live Oak cedes it’s withered leaves,
brown skeletons in my yard.

Their snap is keen beneath my feet,
the bones of past existence,
yet catkins fall and coat us all
in dust of life’s insistence.~ Peter Kuhn

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One Response to Ode to the Live Oak Tree

  1. Deb Jensen says:

    Yo Pete! I tried to “Like” this poem but Big Daddy acted like my Big Brother…Squelched me out

    before I can speak…But I do Love this poem! -Deb

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