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sandra wyllie
Poems
Feb 2021
He’s So Wooden
if I touch him
he’ll splinter. Bare
as the trees in winter. He wrestles
as the leaves. And he
nestles in the wood. Bark peeling
as the paint on my hood. The robin
doesn’t nest. The squirrel doesn’t
run on his branches. For friends
he’s none. Even the woodpecker
hasn’t a slot! His trunk has holes
as fisherman’s knots.
Written by
sandra wyllie
56/F
(56/F)
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