Longing for the murmurous voice that once sweetened sleep
The moss buttoned  tight across  the breast, each dusty mould
Finely crafted,  the exquisite tuning of thrumming insects
Such silvery hands, each turning the leaves
As the little flames lick the bent twist of sage
Read to me
The unmade wreath of piney needles as bitter to bite
As the tumescent sappy bulges of decaying wood
I make this tree, your tree.


About Veronica Aldous

Writer and artist, Veronica is a lecturer is Fine Art and Creative Writing. Her first book of poems, 'Moon Cinema' is now available on Lulu.com. Now there is also 'Mortal' her second book.
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