Editor’s note: This poem was originally found untitled but has been supplementarily named “Pine Needles.” Also, due to my desire to be fully transparent when publishing my earliest work (more on when I might have written this poem here), I have preserved original typos, including misuse of “it’s for “its” and “loose” for “lose” in stanza one to name just a couple. The linked post above details why I’ve done this. Enjoy.
The pine needles fall one by one.
This is not a painless process,
The little tree flinches each time,
because the age of its core,
the age of it’s soul,
reveals that it doesn’t have many left to loose.
Each one is prickly on the end,
for many, the fallen forms a nuisance,
the type that pierce shoes,
cause delay and annoy people.
Yet in full bloom, these little needles smell good,
They fill the air around the tree
with infectious hope and enthusiasm,
Until they fall, when they suck for pedestrian and tree alike.
The bark is strong
But it’s weakened by holes
Written in it by the rains of
Former lovers comments.