Mangled

Photo by Felix Mittermeier from Pexels

How lovely are the mangled trees

With cattywampus roots and knots

Whose branches move like dancers

Like tilt-a-whirls, Like spiral stairs

They breath among the upright

The uniform solider trees

As I enter the woods

I notice the monotony of these static creatures

Each so as the other

They are the foundation, the roof

All others grow as children in their home

But I love the mangled beings

who grow along the waters clear

For beauty comes in many forms

Old swollen knuckles tell a story

And knots speak of toiling years

I can't help but to admire

Mangled, cattywampus, lovely, resilient things

For their beauty is intangible

Their flourishing, awe kindling

A little about the poem

The meaning of this little narrative is three fold. First: just as it is stated , there is beauty in the uniformity in nature and there is beauty in the things that have survived despite trial and odds. Second: although our culture finds the young, the tall, the strong to be most beautiful, I find the wisdom and inner beauty of the elderly to be a greater beauty. Many woman who would be considered Seniors, came to mind as I wrote this poem. Third: no matter ones age, resilience and grit come by through hard circumstances is truly inspiring.