A crooked, gnarled tree.
Having lived many winters.
In its nook a nest craddled.
A home, warm and inviting.
From the nest eyes watched.
How sad for this ancient one.
A miracle if he survived the night.
He of many, many moons, asleep.
A curtain of falling snow.
The grass buried deep beneath.
Too old to track in the blizzard.
His tribe had long since gone.
It continued to snow heavily.
Covering the mountain in white.
The tribe had left for the valley.
Unknown, the ancient left behind.
He waits for death to come.
This tree his only shelter found.
His tomb these cold mountains.
Winter had come too soon.
By C.E. Pereira
I'm a Eurasian of Portuguese, English, Scottish and Malay heritage. And my extended family are of Chinese and Indian heritage. In recent years, the younger generation have added on to include spouses from the Philippines, Nigeria and Russia. My world is made up of different colours like the rainbow. And like the rainbow I am unique.
Reading is my form of relaxation, to escape from the drudgery of daily life and enter into a world of the imagination. It is the love of reading that has led me to try my hand in writing short stories and poems.
I hope that in some way my stories and poems will take you for a little while away from the drudgery of the present into the pages of imagination.
To new friends found, I bid you, Welcome.
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