Today
I considered the crabapple tree
the slow swell of its buds;
the future birth of deep crimson leaves from each sprawling limb
I let grow wild,
refusing to clip and snip.
Even at my best imagined vision,
I could never sculpt it better
than its natural design.
Well, I lie.
Took the saw to a branch once
that came close to poking out my eye
by the washing line.
But the rest
I left
to stretch.
Its many arms reaching
to hold the sky
as I
behold it.
A simple tree,
is it nature's gift to me?
Feb 18, 2018
Feb 18, 2018 at 11:46 AM UTC
Today
I considered the crabapple tree
the slow swell of its buds;
the future birth of deep crimson leaves from each sprawling limb
I let grow wild,
refusing to clip and snip.
Even at my best imagined vision,
I could never sculpt it better
than its natural design.
Well, I lie.
Took the saw to a branch once
that came close to poking out my eye
by the washing line.
But the rest
I left
to stretch.
Its many arms reaching
to hold the sky
as I
behold it.
A simple tree,
is it nature's gift to me?
All done, poems holding days for a week. Best get back to more grumpy work
