You carried scars, not visible to the bird dog.
Legacies, welts that hungover the possibilities.
Somehow, my sun filtrated through the cell which held you,
And my branches absorbed the scores of your apprehensions.
I am the dawn magnolia,
Deep rooted, and blossoming still.
My petals bend in this morning dew.
These branches are strong, as
I was planted in a soft garden light.
My inheritances are written in the rings within me.
I have bent in the wind,
Thirsted in drought, and
Coughed amongst heavier rains.
Than that of March.
My leaves have been burned by the fire
But you will never cut me down,
Or turn me to the pages of a binded book.
One thing does not define me, but many
For I will continue to thrive,
In this garden, amongst those,
Those who appreciate my shade,
My stories and this smell I carry.
Sit beneath me,
So that my leaves might whisper those things you long to hear,
Let me watch over you,
Admiring those welts you carry,
For I am not afraid of anything I have seen.
For in you I found a couplet,
A colloquy that only you and I could create.