Redwood Poem by Ryan Holmes

The lightning strikes, but the land is dry,
The Angels, too afraid to fly,
Huddle in the great redwood,
Their heads bowed under their hoods,
Their mouths move in whispered prayer,
Tonight there’s cold death in the air,
They lock hands and in unison
Wait out the night to greet the sun,
That will rise not again for them
Knowing their time’s at an end,
Angelic faces twist in fear
Soon the land is wrought with tear,
Above all under the red tree,
Where angels sit, no longer free,
The rain rolls off their chagrin face,
Fore they have found their graven place,
Where they will lie to bed at peace,
And flying angel days will cease.