Thursday, July 17, 2025

Search

The Ruffled Wreath

By David Hovan Check

It’s there! 

Adorning the door 

With its remnants of years, 

Showing the ice and snow 

A flicker of warmth 

Borne of its aging boughs, 

Letting its dry needles 

Bless the firmament 

Where they fall, 

A dash of dignity 

Never deserting their purpose, 

Their having been part 

Of a fullness 

That will never let go 

No matter how far their needles scatter 

In the winter wind. 

 

Check writes from North Wildwood. 

Something on your mind? Spout about it!

Spout submissions are anonymous!

600 characters remaining

Check out the new Spout Off!

Most Read

Print Editions

Recommended Articles