The Woods

Once in a while, we dance through the woods

And swing from the swaying limbs

Of my broken family tree.

And though I often stumble over its gnarled roots 

Enmeshed in the eroded loam,

A newfound strength propels me.

I scramble up the rough-hewn bark

To gather the fruit of your wisdom.

Hands rough, limbs scraped, 

I try, I try to reach the top.

And clinging to a sturdy branch,

Knowing you’re but a few feet down,

I gaze upon a distant hope,

Fleetingly but gratefully

Determined not to stop.