deepundergroundpoetry.com

mother oak

sat between thick-gnarly, dirt-hued thighs,  
girl cups a polished acorn—content, sighs;  

summer-bared, toes wriggle deep in loam,  
within low arms' embrace—knows she's home.  

back to fissured flesh, so broad and warm,  
autumn-child feels safe—secure from harm.  
 
glancing up—sky worn in tangled meshes  
dressed with random nests, bright auburn tresses.
butters
Written by butters
Published | Edited 13th Oct 2019
Author's Note
for crimsin's secret knowledge of trees competition
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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