Martina

Nature’s monster of destruction left, Taking the sounds of the forest. Mounds of sand and mud Had migrated past the water’s edge. A jumble of broken tree limbs, Like a grave of severed arms. The sharp pitch of a tree Faintly wailing in the distance. The trunk of the old oak, A cherished, old thing, Plummeted through the heart Of the once plain room. I am searching the damaged wood For the cottage of my childhood.