I wrote this poem on a personal retreat in Fox Chase, Pennsylvania in the fall of 2019. Old trees are the wisest. I can tell by how wide their trunks are. They’ve been here longer than I have. And they’ll be here longer than I will. Can I contemplate that without swallowing the bitter pill?
Old trees are the wisest.
Old trees are the wisest.
Old trees are the wisest.
I wrote this poem on a personal retreat in Fox Chase, Pennsylvania in the fall of 2019. Old trees are the wisest. I can tell by how wide their trunks are. They’ve been here longer than I have. And they’ll be here longer than I will. Can I contemplate that without swallowing the bitter pill?