Graphics to be added later.
Cottonwood
When the moon beams high,
Poignant across the crimson red sky,
I am moved by the sunâs slow descent,
Urged to find the cottonwood grove
And remember your name.
.
How does one pay respects
To a face that holds little to remember?
When you passed long before my
Coming of age, tempered by truth,
And sombered by the flame?
.
But as the stars sparkle above,
Entrenched along the midnight horizon,
I am moved by the sunâs disappearance
â its soul no longer carrying the weight
Of a mind burdened by time.
.
Only the wish to know your name,
And the lives your heart once touched,
Affected forever by your roots, poised to
Plant your legacy in a new field, readied
For the cottonwood to breathe once more.
To which, your story will be reborn.