A Poem

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Image for post
Photo by Martin Adams on Unsplash

moons and suns and seasons collect
like leaves upon an autumn lawn
or snow upon a winter’s sill
regrets collect too, that way
each a parcel on the scale
weighed against happiness

on a warm summer’s day long past
I planted a fig tree
in the most perfect place
on a rich soiled river’s bank
the tree grew and flourished
in its blue-green heaven
but never bore fruit

many moons passed by
streaking my hair
with the silver of their visitations
it was on a cold day in November
when I learned the truth of fig trees
and of how they can thrive alone
but will never bear fruit
in solitude


Matt Gleason

Connector of Dots, Artist, Writer of (sometimes) unsettling poems and stories.

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