who take it, take it, take it, then just
snap, a branch that has some give,
but not an infinite amount. Normal,
supple twig that's destined to support
green leaves and fruit and fragrant flowers
but it snaps in two, a part of something
bigger, better, grander, falling
to the ground to rot. I want to put a brace
beneath the branches on my trees, but
sometimes it's the wind, not the fault
of anything or anyone and no one sees
it coming. Sometimes a limb just needs
to fall before new growth can start,
and sometimes things just have to die.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014
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