AWRY

From the seeds that I sowed
In the long ago forests of time 
I had wished to grow 
Tall, stately trees of pine 
But now,

From the outermost edge

I watch contemplatingly

At what turned out to be 
A straggly motley group 
Of random race 
Some half way grown 
Others leaning crookedly 

My patchy canvas 
So painted in hope 
With what were supposed to be 
Elegant towering lines 
Stands bewildered 
While I ponder perplexedly 
How to get

Those stunted, twisted mockers 
To realign.

Does someone know what happened

To my tall, stately trees of pine?

MS