Latest Forum Posts:

Categories

Golden Cottonwoods
By
fallingdove

Golden Cottonwoods

a nod to Frost

Whose woods are these?

I guess, I’ll never know.

His house might be in Portland . . .

or Seattle.

He wouldn’t care to know

That I pedal past his trees

And marvel at the way they grow

Line after golden line of leaves

March toward the paper-mill

Over the hill, to become a bill

Or a flier that gets thrown away

It seems such a disgrace

To force chaos from a forest

And grow cottonwoods

Just for waste.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than storiesspace.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

To link to this poem from your site - please use the following code:

<a href="https://www.storiesspace.com/stories/poetry/golden-cottonwoods.aspx">Golden Cottonwoods</a>

Comments (3)

Tell us why

Please tell us why you think this story should be removed.

Reason