Wrinkled Skin

by Ethel Mortenson Davis

This morning
the trunks of cedar trees
felt skin-like,
looking like wrinkled
elephant skin —

elephants cornered
throughout Africa,
poached, killed
for money.

One man spent most
Of his life protecting them.

When he died recently,
the elephants walked
in single-file to his house
where he lay in state,
circling his house and
staying for some time.

Animals and birds know
when people want to
protect them,
show grace and gratitude.

They wait for us to save them,

the animals,
the cedars,
the wrinkled skin.


Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry

4 responses to “Wrinkled Skin

  1. This is so utterly beautiful Ethel, it quite took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes.

  2. This is quietly moving Ethel … I think it will stay in the mind.

  3. Yes, a beautiful piece, Ethel.

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