Under the Bough (1)

Standing underneath this bough,
I’m thinking of the rivers that
I never saw.
The Wonders of the World
I do not know…

The bonds that came and went…
What did they mean?
The tempests and the bickering,

That molten lava scorching at the soul
and cindering our reason.
Wild-eyed in wretchedness,
it is a kind of dying.

We walk into a corner of the park.
The cliche of the snowdrops
and the daffodils…can soothe…
We ask them why such pain ?

But nature has few answers
to dark mysteries …
She lives with them.
And if a heavy foot should stamp on her
she breaks….

..and waits for spring to come again.

Kristine Byrne. Dec.2019 Revised Oct 2020