The Weaver’s Tree had been around longer than anyone could remember.Not too shabby for a twelve-year-old. I'm a proud papa.
It’s glossy green leaves never darkened,
never fell to the ground in autumn.
The roots rambled over the ground.
They ran away from the trunk,
like people from a fire,
spreading in all directions.
In the spring, apples hung from the boughs of the tree
like a child clinging to the monkey bars.
They would drop, untouched,
to the soft grass of the meadow.
And the air would drip with the sickly sweet smell of rotten fruit
until the summer rain would wash it away
Wednesday, September 04, 2013
Lil' miss Poet: The Weaver's Tree
I'm allowed to occasionally brag about my kids, right? So there's this Louisiana Writes contest: school kids from all across the state submit writings in various categories, many hundreds of submissions. And my Lulu, my lil' miss poet, won third place in the poetry category. The poem: