The Hug I Want to Never End
Maren O. Mitchell
As the forty-foot-high cedar
stands greenly by our house,
year upon year,
at home in the universe
on our revolving planet
circling the fire,
implacably synchronized,
fronds expanding in new perfume,
offering depths of cool in heat,
cutting cold command of winds,
torrents of clouds,
surety of lightening,
beginning far below the grass,
quivering through quartz
and other lives,
swaying skyward
calling weary ones
to shelter from fight—
so you are to me.
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