On a lonely knoll, a gnarly tree
covered in lichen, languished
until a troll, with gra’zed knee
beneath it collapsed in anguish.
Then from the troll, “I’m at my end!”
and from the tree, “Dear God, a friend!”
…The troll got up, the tree grew straight
and they have been having good times of late.
© 2008 rosie schriever
