Pine needles rest, woven into a tapestry from Earth,
become the soil that soon will give to seeds birth.
Threads of life, fallen from the weavers grasp
delicate pattern on the path for eyes to clasp.
Pine needles once green, now red as babies hair
tossed gently upon the wind, for the one who's waitin ... somewhere.
Michelle Balletto-Wooten
© 7-5-11
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