Photo by Derrick J. Knight

Jewels of the Forest

poor ranger as he was,
lonely and weary;
in evenings, leaning 
against the old trunk, thinking
of his children and wife
                in the village;

the old tree, covered in lichens;
reminds me of my late father;
his arm skin, once, dry and roughen;
with all the shadow of the world.

He gazes at the red berries, like rubies;
how he wished they were real.
Unbeknown to himself, he picks
the red berries, the little rubies;
he would give them to his children,
would make necklaces
              and bracelets;
he smiles;

smiles at the berries;
            they whisper: 
take us as many as you want.  

©Byung A. Fallgren