Thursday, February 1, 2018

First poem of the year

The first brave blossoms
have dabbed their pinkness
on the fingers of an old cherry
although January has just
reached the half-way mark
and the big-bodied plane trees
in the park
slumber on
last year's leaves
moldering beneath them
on their way back to Source

An ancient chinese hazel
is waking up too
tiny chartreuse fronds
uncurling along its arms

I walked up to the park
for the miles
and got a tiny taste
of spring
for my trouble.

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