Beauty blog💜

the logger’s yew whether the doctors or the loggers
it was kept in the family
while the land around it was culled the daughters would climb
while the boys hacked to the green inside
alive and standing, resolute
as the only place to hide the last wedding held under it’s boughs
ended with a knuckle and a hymn
garlinds and ropes alike had been tied
and drapped from it’s limbs only the logger made it to the top
before the doctor tried to cut it down
the last standoff held under it’s boughs
ended with a crash heard through town but it wasn’t the tree beling felled
it was metal crashing against bone
and the logger wept on his knees
while the doctor slipped on home whether the doctors or the loggers
it was kept in the family
while the land around it was culled while the hillside parted way
with the yew the valley held
like the doctor separated from body
as his soul was shelled it’s not the brother that’s gone
it’s the fields that’ve been salted
the years flew by and stifled the 
roots that had parted the logger tried to keep company
to the greenery that crept away
and the property became the same
hospice the doctor would’ve made he tried as hard as he could
but in the end he left all the same
and the logger was buried back
into the soil from where he came whether the doctors or the loggers
it was kept in the family
while the land around it was culled if you pick the right dirt road 
you’ll find it and see
the graves below