Morning Poem, December 7, 2016

 

Cardinals under the Holly tree

In the winter morning sun

Red birds, red berries

Like they are of a piece

As if they came to this land of green and grey

From the same bright place

.

The last of the leaves lay in the grass

The color of saddle leather

A man walking his dog

The dog balks and pulls at his leash

And the man gently resists

,

The giant oaks across the street

Are bare and white in the bright morning

And quiet as sages, who know

But know that warning would be futile

,

What was here when they first sprouted?

Pasture, forest, meadow, field

Some farmhouse full of children?

,

A truck rolls along the road

A patchwork body, three different colors

Ladders on the back

.

The distant clouds are faint, long and curved

Like plucked eyebrows

 

copyright 2016

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2 Responses to Morning Poem, December 7, 2016

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