A Second Look

A stump of a palm

once tall and grand,

no fronds to dance and sway,

or decorate her head,

Had shone bright,

outstretched ‘neath heaven’s rays;

dull now, bearing

a gaping wound.


but for an echoing sound that says goodbye,

and not hello;

an empty, aching shell

devoid of light.



A flutter of red



knocking from within the dark cavity.

A woodpecker emerges,

poised at the edge of its nest.


Shrill cries from within.


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