Mick's Stories, Poetry and Images


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The Cottonwood

Yes, She saw it all,This beautiful lady so tall,

From the feathered Red-skinned folk

To giant oxen with a yoke.

…..And She saw it all.


My Mother, she was,

I say with a rustling pause.

Of many, I was one who fell from above

To grow and share her protecting love.


Travelers passing noted her charms,

Often taking refuge in her open arms,

Borrowing her firewood on a cold winter morn.

She gave it up to keep them warm.

…..And she saw it all.



Little did she ask,

But a drink from a flask

Rustling a wave goodbye,

With a morning tear in her eye.


Wagan Chan was her first name, they say.

Natives’ words, depicting her restless way,

Sadly, she watched them leave to never return..

Soon others came , some to plow, some to burn.

…..And she saw it all.


Mother grew up in times so bad.

Water was scarce and often not had.

Of a family so large, she was the one

Who survived the longest under the sun.


Fires and critters made times tough

But she came through, looking rough.

Others lived under her protecting hands,

Some from far and distant lands.

…..And she saw it all.


Mother was old, when my roots first came.

She sheltered me from wind and rain.

I sprouted fast, growing close by,

Always under her watchful eye.


Late in the summer of her ending year,

As if she knew her time was drawing near,

She showered the land with silk so white

That little children all loved the sight.

…..And she saw it all.


The storm was strong, her death came fast.

Lightning hit, the great Cottonwood fell at last.

The ground shook as her friends drew tears.

She lay dead, after two hundred years.


As she came to rest all was quiet, and it made sense,

For if a tree falls in the forest, there is a time of total silence

When even the birds show their respect and appreciation.

The creatures all came, some winged, some furred, like a great forest nation.

…..And I saw it all.

The Leaf That Blew


As I watch the leaves of fall

Sailing the wind, no port in sight.

Starting from the tree so tall

Flipping up as nature’s kite.


Catching bits of morning rays

Showing colors, each its own.

Sharing, lasting only days.

Ending where the winds have blown.


I wonder if it knew,

Far back in time,

 While on a branch it grew,

What holds for it, down the line?


Arms unfolding, grabbing light

Feeding mother as she grew.

Sleeping the haunting night.

Waking painted with crystal dew.


Dancing to the whistling tune

Of nature’s cooling breeze.

                            Letting loose to fly so soon.                             

Saying goodbye to the trees.


Falling, blowing, piling high,

Soon to be covered in the chilling white,

Of falling flurries from the sky

To sleep the winter’s night.


Never to wake and smell the glory

Of all that is spring and new.

‘Tis the end of this story

Of the leaf, that blew.



(Autumn, 2011, Sioux Falls, SD)