



For Stanley Wotring
The globe willow was wounded in the wind, Mortally it would seem, split down the trunk. But a healer of trees spread some gluey gunk Along its inward grain hoping to rescind That death sentence with the help of a clamp To weld its two halves together—a perfect fit. Your mind and soul once felt that kind of split From forces that blew out your waking lamp Some time ago only to eventually awaken From your own windstorm badly shaken And nearly dead but living on to walk Into a universe that healed you of the shock And left you dancing towards your lovely fate Whatever that may be—don't hesitate.
I love the gentle rhyming in this gentle poem.
I liked the volta. But the last two words of the poem I found somewhat bathetic. Couldn't you have found something a little less lame? 'It's a pity to spoil the ship for a pen'orth of tar.'