THE FALLEN

Sherbrooke Forest | By Penny Whetton

 THE FALLEN

Tree branches bend,

scarred by age.

Beaten by the storm,

many hit the ground

amid piles of leaves.

Without a proper burial,

no one mourns their loss.

The fallen won’t be forgotten

as replacements take root

in the shade of the tall trees.

Sunshine filters through the forest,

lighting the way for the future.

A BORING AFTERNOON AT THE PET STORE

babyanimalposts:
       
     A BORING AFTERNOON AT THE PET STORE

     A boring afternoon at the pet store.
     “What to do? What to do?”
     The white cat pondered to herself.
     The only movement in the store
     was an annoying fly.
     It flew round and round the store.
     As if looking for the perfect spot to land.
     The four kittens followed the fly with their eyes.
     In fact, they couldn’t keep their eyes off of him.
     The fly was black and furry.
     He also had some unusual yellow stripes down his back.
     The smallest cat wanted him for a new baby brother.
     The Tom cat wanted to swat the thing with his tail.
     The fly finally landed.
     On the Tom cat’s nose.
     “Ouch,” Tom cat screamed out.
     “He bit me!” He said while rubbing his nose.
     Fluffy, the big white cat, ran over to big Tom.
     She said,”He didn’t bite you but stung you.”
     “Oh no! Oh no! What should I do?”
     Tom began to run around in circles.
     The white cat moved closer to look at his nose.
     “It’s fine. If it swells, we’ll put ice on it. It looks better
     than the poor fly.”
     The four cats looked down at the fly lying on the ground.
     “He gave his life so he could sting you,” Fluffy said. 
     "But why would he do that?” Tom looked confused.
      “It’s the way of life,” Fluffy said in a sad voice.
      “I know! We should bury him with a service and all.”
      The little voice came from the youngest kitten.
      They all agreed with him.
      Not having a yard for a burial, they wrapped the fly
      in a tissue and were going to flush him down the toilet.
      But first, the youngest, Squeaky, said a few words.
      Squeaky was sad that the fly didn’t even have a name.
      “Let’s call him Mr. Bee,” Fluffy suggested to the group.
      “Why? He was a fly.” Squeaky was upset.
      “No, my dear, he was a bee. And that is why he stung Tom.”
      Squeaky began to cry.
      After wiping his nose and eyes, Squeaky agreed to call
      him Mr. Bee.
      “Goodbye, Mr. Bee. We’re sorry we didn’t get to know you
      better. I hope you make friends in your new life.”
      With that said, Squeaky flushed the toilet and watched
      Mr. Bee float away to his new life.
      “Goodbye Mr. Bee,” Squeaky said. “We’ll miss you.”

THE FALLEN

ominousraincloud:

Sherbrooke Forest | By Penny Whetton

The tree has been hurt.
Scarred by the storm.
Its leaves have fallen.
Fallen soldiers of war.
Without a proper burial.
Who will mourn them?
The fallen of nature.
The tree will mourn
their loss.
Until new leaves sprout
to take their place.
And the cycle continues.