On the Ground

Ever since I learned about personification, I have enjoyed using it in my writings.  This poem came to mind after one of my final walks around the area behind a school where I had taught for many years:




                                                           Weathered sticks--
                                                               the dry, broken bones
                                                            of trees--
                                                               lie where they
                                                            have fallen
                                                               like solkdiers
                                                            away from home.
                                                               Looking closely,
                                                            I see what
                                                               used to be
                                                            when  each one
                                                               was part of
                                                             the branch,
                                                                attached to the limb
                                                             and growing,
                                                                 in a childhood
                                                             untouched
                                                                 except for birds
                                                             and caterpillers.