by a star's light
like a middle mast
your sails out flung, only bluish;
rooted as you are,
travelling in place and going nowhere,
you weave a nest for any bird.
Beware, the woodsman's
real and ruthless blade.
Strokes ring out, quiver off,
and shake the chandelier.
Next, you are.
It isn't that one's lot improves-
it generally doesn't,
or does so rarely;
At best, it stays the same.
All things being equal,
we just equilibrate-
redefine and with time
and less or more effort,
accept and move on.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Tree* by Morgan Michaels )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(23 November 1920 - 20 April 1970)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- A Life-Lesson, James Whitcomb Riley
- No Man Is An Island, John Donne
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, Mary Elizabeth Frye
- Human Family, Maya Angelou
Poem of the Day
- A Brief History of Abstract Art, Paul Hartal
- Thy melody is lost, ramesh rai
- Under The Raging Water, Lawrence S. Pertillar
- Daughter of Eve, ramesh rai
- Schmacebook, Esther Moe
- Excuses, Michelle Dragonfly
- They Say, Michelle Dragonfly
- someone asked me why i have so many jars.., Mandolyn ...
- Not A Fairytale, Apolynn Lagaras
- let's worship nothing, forever, Mandolyn ...