Don’t Ever Tell Me
Don’t ever tell me the past is past, it is over,
so move on, get over it, forget it;
for the ancient glacial rocks at my doorstep,
making walls and lining garden paths
would not be there were it not for the past and
neither would I in the form I presently exist .
There are ancient trees the world over,
like the Redwoods which stand yet
as monuments to past centuries of change
scars where branches fell,
and circles in their wood which tell their age
as well as years of drought and rain.
Don’t ever tell me the past is gone, so get over it,
for I feel as old as those trees, those rocks ;
My body with scars which speak of history and
my stories which you may hear if you listen.
Feelings too run just as deep as a trees rings do,
for my present is built upon my ancient past.
So don’t ever tell me the past is past,
so get over it,
Because I really couldn’t even if I tried !
– Christine S. Maccabee