Therese Gramercy . . . the girl named Trees

Flood waters in grove of trees


I could never imagine such a daily nightmare before,
so sick, my lips cracked, bloody and sore.
You said don’t push it to ask for a little bit more,
tears fall from my eyes and beat my knees to the floor.
This wasn’t what my life savings were supposed to be for,
and though I’d seen hard times before, now I’ve seen even more.
I yearn for the old days of abundance at the salty seashore,
while I glance back for the last time at my former front door.