It was me.


I cut the tree in the woods you couldn’t hear falling;

you were too far away.


Closer now, I am calling to you – Can you hear?


I will wait for you, wait for your answering call,

wait amid these leaves and branches,



Roots may form, still I will wait.

Moss can grow, wait, I wait.


What will I hear?


Michael Griffith


Michael Griffith began writing poetry to help his mind and spirit heal as his body recovered from a life-changing injury. Recent work appears online and in print in such outlets as The Blue Nib, Nostalgia Digest, NY Literary Magazine, and Poetry24. He resides near Princeton, NJ.  

Post a Comment

Previous Post Next Post