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don-bouchardPoems
My neighbor’s live oak is a modest tree; She stands now in March Fully leaved in a brown fur coat, Waiting patiently for sap to rise And push new leaves To hide our eyes. I have watched her now Six short years, Every year the same. A chaste three feet of trunk exposed, Her hemline proves her to be the Modest Canadienne. Her crisp brown cloak Rises to the tip Of her leafy beret As she stands prim and straight. My shameless ash trees Shed their clothes and stand Naked in October winds, Brittle in January, Lifeless in March, Grudgingly putting forth A summer supply of leafery Long enough to prove Existence. But she, the oak across the street, Is beautiful and coy, Covered in rich deep greens Or solemn browns With hardly a day between Her changing.
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Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 7:55 AM UTC
La Canadienne
My neighbor’s live oak is a modest tree; She stands now in March Fully leaved in a brown fur coat, Waiting patiently for sap to rise And push new leaves To hide our eyes. I have watched her now Six short years, Every year the same. A chaste three feet of trunk exposed, Her hemline proves her to be the Modest Canadienne. Her crisp brown cloak Rises to the tip Of her leafy beret As she stands prim and straight. My shameless ash trees Shed their clothes and stand Naked in October winds, Brittle in January, Lifeless in March, Grudgingly putting forth A summer supply of leafery Long enough to prove Existence. But she, the oak across the street, Is beautiful and coy, Covered in rich deep greens Or solemn browns With hardly a day between Her changing.
don-bouchard
Written by
don-bouchard
66/M/American
Nov 29, 2011
Nov 29, 2011 at 7:55 AM UTC
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