Daughter of the Deep Places A hardwood doesn’t settle in its spot Out of any preference for that spot. She grew where she fell. She never left the deep places That prefer their own company. Never left the coal-train diesel lullabies Or evening songs of the owl and fox. Never left the cool, clear branch That wore its way through naked stone To where it met its sisters and the sea. Dressed in gingham there And wore her hair in…...
