Memories are tree stumps
What was, isn’t anymore
what was alive, now is dead
though it harbors new life;
pain, bitterness, wistfulness,
love, remembrance, regret
thrive like so much lichen
On occasion a new shoot
sprouts from the stump,
drawing its nourishment,
its potential new life, from
the decayed remains of
what had once been
While the new seedling may
grow, even thrive skyward
it will never be what was
Ponderable polemics, poetic 