Orphans

Poem About Nature

Are like pine needles
Fallen from their mother tree
Landing on the shaded concrete
Too many to count
Too many to care for
All pointing in different directions
Some together and some apart
Subject to the slightest breeze
They meet the strong blades of grass
Still rooted in their mother Earth
The needles mingle with the blades
Only to find this is not their home
And hope for another breeze
From that great unknown Above
To usher them into the flower patch,
Wheat field, clover bunch,
Or anywhere else more befitting
Of the vagabond pine needles
Without a mother
Without a home
Without roots for them to hone

more by A. M. LAINE

photograph by Jean Lakosnyk

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