ASH

 

A man’s made of threads,

his father and mother,

the sure knots, blood-red,

but his wider kin, too.

 

My uncle rose early,

sunrise yellow tied in,

dew on his boots,

the mud trail a wet yarn.

 

Washing at creekside

down from the dun,

where we swam, wading

in the water’s cool weft.

 

The sun’s cloud white,

rye thin near the byre,

the cattle lowing wove

days from my childhood.

 

Before now, but still,

old hands flit the shuttle –

as children they ran,

laid the trail before us.

 

Such is meaning made,

our lives laid across

the Weaver’s beam,

thick as a giant’s spear.

 

 

 

SEAN M. CONREY ~ POET’S PAGE

 

 

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THE BOOK OF TREES by Sean M. Conrey  *  ISBN-13: 978-0-9986404-3-3  *  ISBN 10: 0-9986404-3
Saint Julian Press, Inc. * 2053 Cortlandt, Suite 200 * Houston, TX 77008  * Ron Starbuck ~ Publisher-CEO
Phone: 281-734-8721 * Email: ronstarbuck@saintjulianpress.com * www.saintjulianpress.com