When the sea was collecting
precious tears
of ancient pine trees,
what did you see,
a forty-million-year-old spider,
trapped in one of the tears
against your will?
What were they crying over?
Maybe you all
were contemplating
the evening glow
when the wiped tears
turned into amber.
I was born and had been lived nearly 30 years next to the Baltic sea, where 90 percent of amber reserves is concentrated.
Original words and images
Inspired by Poetry Class of Steem Schools on Discord
