out by the pines

the children asked where she had gone:
the day was cool and messaging –
she is out by the pines, i think,
for autumn has been presaging
a time, two times, and time again;
and woods and paths, they know a friend

the gathered friends seemed so concerned:
they drank their coffees, spasming –
she’s safe out by the pines, i’d guess,
she spends her days in chasming
from you, from me, and all alone;
but woods and paths, they know their own

our lives spin on in crisscross lines
that knot up here or there
out by the pines

Author: Owen Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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