Sunday, 24 October 2010

Oak by Gill McEvoy

As she polishes and buffs the grain,
the golden wood, the strong fine lines,

she almost hears its yellow leaves
mutter in an autumn wind:

growing beside a lake, an oak,
this table forming in its solid heart.

1 comment:

Ameerah A said...

This is so lovely. It reminds us of how we kill majestic things, like the oak, but their majesty keeps on breathing forever despite their change