Poem: Beneath the Creaking Trees


Under the gloomy sky

Beneath the creaking trees

Limbs are gnarled and twisted

And swaying in the breeze

Spidery branches reach up

Twist in every way

Lonely little park bench

In afternoon of gray

We stop to rest a moment

And sit and smoke and talk

Taking pause for refreshment

Before continuing our walk

To a hidden graveyard

Of rusted hulks of steel

They are no longer moving

The ground covers their wheels

What once raced down streets

Now lies dormant in the field

No longer do they roam the roads

And to passing time they yield

Pausing for this moment

As raindrops catch the breeze

Under these March skies

Beneath the creaky trees

©2013 James Takeo

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