A New Leaf

It was a question of the book, really,
That kept hope alive of stopping the ice
Forming at the root of her world.
She hoped it would dispel those clefts of
Memory struck deep in her mind's land.
It was a question of rubbing out what had
Happened, of putting the tape onto reverse,
Of erasing the eating worm.  But still she
Felt the squirming of maggots in the heartbole.
It was a question of the right food for roots
To keep them healthy, growing, aiming for
Light.  She felt that if she could do all that,
Her output of leaves would be green again
And she would feel new.

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