the ill-tempered autumn wind does little to sway an evergreen
whose timber column rings thus of doggedness unseen.
there may have been moments when leaves would wither here and there,
but its blanket of foliage has fought to keep its verdant hue--
whether caught in snow or shaken by pelting rain,
whether trampled undue by the trudging of time
or battered somehow by a certain bane...
the fact is, he's been here for so long:
he's taken after the colors of her writing pens
like mixed laundry bleeding its red unto a wash of white linens--
alas, sometimes I find myself lying beneath the boardwalk
drowning in her songs and sifting through a gallery of her smiles.
this has been the most meaningful three quarters of any year
i have had the privilege of co-authoring with someone so dear.