Caught by the River


5th March 2012

A poem by John Barlow

Here, in your rotting stump,
are your stories
of drought and plenty,
the fortunes of the wood.

The stag beetle
ambling back beneath
your moss-hugged limb
knows nothing of how
you threw your weight
on your northern side,
the rings spaced
to counter-balance branches
that would have left you,
without hesitation,
for the sun.