I went into the woods

to count the countless trees,

where three hundred years

is young,

found they indeed have a number

the ancient mossy stumps of giants

felled long ago

host seedlings that may never


to the heights of their ancestors

while the wind through the pine boughs

are whispered legends, myths in Mi’kmaq

quietly told to others who will never understand.

© Erik Hansen 2018


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Filed under American, Contemporary, Creative Writing, Diversity, Edges, Literature, outdoors, Poetry, Publishing, Self Publishing, Writing

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