The oak’s bare limbs scatter the early Spring light
onto tender greens.
The lichen observes
the rabbit, and waits.
And the trees listen.
The last chilly breeze means nothing
to the wing of the robin.
Poised, she sings.
musing – dreaming – writing
The oak’s bare limbs scatter the early Spring light
onto tender greens.
The lichen observes
the rabbit, and waits.
And the trees listen.
The last chilly breeze means nothing
to the wing of the robin.
Poised, she sings.