Thanks Richard Palmquist for sharing your poem “Weeping at the Old Tree”.
Shirley Jimenez
21

Every broken heart finds its way from grave to soil to growing green thing. In the end we all go to the old tree…our tears nothing but fuel for something smiling at the sun; something waving in the wind; something giving us breath while we sleep.

I like trees. They never launch an ICBM.

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