Say once a river carried fallen wood –
a branch, ripped off a tree in Summer storm,
where birds had made a nest to stay in warm,
their offspring left to spread their wings for good –
what could the branch remember of its past?
Say once that river took the wood to sea,
where tide and waves move slowly, then move fast,
to take the branch away and towards me,
would I think of the birds or former nest?
For me the branch is timber at its best.
Say once you made a promise to a lover,
the gift in silk, and joined by tasty sweet,
a ring tossed in to make more of the offer,
but she then threw you out and in the street,
would she be in your thought after a decade?
Say once you were a free man with no wife,
would you still owe to her? While she betrayed?
You can move on to make more of your life.
Here is the timber, you can build a boat,
and I’ll be there to see it go afloat.