From the seeds that I sowed

In the long ago forests of time

I had wished to grow

Tall, stately trees of pine

But now,

From the outermost edge

I watch contemplatingly

At what turned out to be

A straggly motley group

Of random race

Some half way grown

Others leaning crookedly

My patchy canvas

So painted in hope

With what were supposed to be

Elegant towering lines

Stands bewildered

While I ponder perplexedly

How to get

Those stunted, twisted mockers

To realign.

Does someone know what happened

To my tall, stately trees of pine?

© Manic Sylph 2016