The Bough and The Wind




The bough sways in the trees

Pressure from the wind.

Sometimes it is gentle

No more than a nudge

Other times a gale

Ripping the air

Angry and violent.

Still the bough sways

Sometimes left

Sometimes right

Always maintaining

A quiet dignity.

Years pass unnoticed

In time, age shows

Gently at first

Soon, too soon

The bough creaks with age

And one day

When least expected

A violent wind

And a crack.

Death is harsh

And unforgiving.

The wind

And the bough.


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I am a woman with a mission: to live life to the fullest. I will not let an itty, bitty incurable disease stop me. It may slow me down but like a ship dragging an anchor, I'll get there eventually. Walk with me at

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