poetry

Poetry 16


Lake District, England

Sitting crossed legged by the wishing tree, I’m mesmerized

So many coins of all shapes and sizes wedged into it’s cracks

Holding tight onto somebody’s dreams

I close my eyes as my lips soundlessly form the words

The surrounding wood seemingly whisper their response

Opening my eyes I gently unfold myself

Kissing my penny, for extra measure, before nudging it into place

Tripping happily back down the leafy path I pass an old man with a stick

I watch him as he leans against the wishing tree,

Eyes closed and tears wetting his shrunken cheeks,

I hope his wish comes true.

By Lucy Williams

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