The Gatherer~


An old beat up ford
carries the load of
sweet smelling pine,
scraps and trimmings
from the Christmas tree lots,
fallen boughs in the park,
pinecones longing to be adornments,
gifts upon the ground to his eyes.

Cheeks apple red from a biting wind
as he stoops, quickly wiping his nose
with a sap stained tattered glove,
gathering every coveted branch,
he needs so many now.

Evergreen branches and chicken wire..
Blankets for the dead.
A sack full of decorations waits
in the corner of the garage,
large red bows to crown his creations,
a mix of shiny and rustic,
along with the traditional small stuffed animals
wired to the center of a lush green bed.

Saw-horses hold a frame as he works meticulously
finishing each one..no holes or bare spots,
he lays them down to wait in a night of stars
for December's journey to the cemetery.

Next morning their tips are flocked with frosted beauty,
not from a can, but nature herself.
Loading time..
carefully stacked,
season after season..
delivering blankets for the dead.

He's gone now, but each December
his words are recalled softly
as the first snowfall
upon the evergreen..
"A neglected grave is a shameful thing".


© Jan~