Upon our land, amidst a cemetery, stood a live oak tree that had survived for generations that lay beneath its leaves. For some time and for awhile this majestic timber stood over; those fallen members of a family that went back in numbers. The numbers dwindled as did that mighty wood; but like all things; as the last of the ones who tended the family might, the tree became a husk; a barometer of our plight. Sadly, I see in pictures a giant stock of rotting wood and stones of babies bones. This is the legacy I leave back in the New Land. Rest you sweet Kamryn in your sleep; shadowed by our pedigree.
ns216.73.216.86da2
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What Do You See?
Poetry
Prose
Family
Last updated: Jan 11, 2016
Total word count: 208
Total reading time: 1 Minute
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