In révérence
obeisant brow
salute to Earth
in graceful bough.
A somber Earth Day, dear reader,
but may there be buds for you.
In révérence
obeisant brow
salute to Earth
in graceful bough.
A somber Earth Day, dear reader,
but may there be buds for you.
When winter comes
even the drips stop
to heed
the inward time
iced
blackened by early night
when kitchen lights glow gold
and we face ourselves
reflected in dark windows.
A window with a view
coveted prize
a break in routine
rest for our eyes
a tree with some posies
quiets day’s din
but sometimes can startle
by looking back in.
We’ve looked back and forth
Crabapple and I
exchanging world views
in the year that’s gone by.
It’s given the kitchen
a leafy embrace
and made my new house
a cozier place.
Lichened old faithful
steadfast and seasoned
shading me from
a world all unreasoned.
There’ve been times in my life
I’ve known a kind tree
that seemed like kin
and companion to me.
Perhaps you, dear reader,
understand what I mean
and also have had
a friend that is green.
When I moved in here, almost a year ago, I knew that two trees would have to come down. This crabapple is one of them. Now the arrangements are made, and I can’t help the sadness. It’s been so pretty, wrapping around my little bay window. This place is still not home to me, and the crabapple has seemed to know that. I will miss it.
The little old lady who lives here (me)
wanted photos of ice on the tree
but she knew she’d look daft
in such wintry draft
so she tried to work unobtrusively.
In the front yard in the sleet
right by the street
she bobbed alow and aloft
but her attempt to be invisible
turned out to be risible
when the stupid flash went off.
one glorious autumn day
found themselves entangled
decided it time to play
they leaf-tickled each other
tree-giggled susurrously
bouncing and dodging mid-air
lobbing soft gold at me.
part amethyst
part Dubble-Bubble
my crabapple blooms
no
explodes
into airy pouffy
Rorschach
mocking
my impatience.