Thirty One Trees Bethany Craig
POETRY
Who would have thought that after surviving the Depression, outliving two sons, and losing my husband to the War, I would have ended up here. I traveled the world when he passed on, looking for something to help me forget. But here I am, forgotten and disappearing into ear th’s rhythm. Every morning the sun warms the granite over my head, drinks up the dew, and bows to the bleak night. And I am alone in a field of the nameless-left to rot under the shade of thir ty one trees.
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