The Woods
Once in a while, we dance through the woods
And swing from the swaying limbs
Of my broken family tree.
And though I often stumble over its gnarled roots
Enmeshed in the eroded loam,
A newfound strength propels me.
I scramble up the rough-hewn bark
To gather the fruit of your wisdom.
Hands rough, limbs scraped,
I try, I try to reach the top.
And clinging to a sturdy branch,
Knowing you’re but a few feet down,
I gaze upon a distant hope,
Fleetingly but gratefully
Determined not to stop.