Jun 27, 2025
F.F. Teague, 'Lament of the Leaning Trees'
We were planted to stand, not to sprawl in this way by the larger of lakes in the park, to stare straight at the sky through the night and the day, not to ogle our own shades of bark. But the lake has swelled swampily over the years, seizing soil in her cool clammy clench, with a treasure of twigs-and-grass, sweet chestnut spheres, and a hoard of hard wood, once a bench. How we cling to…
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