The Trees Act Opposite to Us
The
trees act opposite to us: they shed
about
the time we start to cover head
and
hands and trunk against the growing chill.
Trees
stand unclothed against cruel winter’s blast
while
we, head down, hunched over, stumble past
in
layers of wool and fleece and down. Until
at
last we sense a mildness in the air,
and
cautiously leave home an outer layer
to
take a walk and breathe a breath of spring.
And
for the trees what does the mild air bring
but
bright green skirts composed of countless leaves
that
flirt and flutter as each current weaves
among
their layers its pattern of romance:
So
trees stand in one place and get to dance.
Winter
Fall
I
dashed my foot against a stone today;
my
mittened hands and satchel broke my fall.
No
broken bones or sprains, I’m glad to say;
an
apple bruised more than my foot is all.
For
sueded leather stitched to tight-knit wool,
for
my old satchel stuffed and padded full
with
books and folders and good things to eat,
for
fur-lined leather boots that shield my feet
against
the buckled concrete pavement’s clip;
for
guardian angels as I come and go
who
steady me when I begin to slip;
for
rescues more than I will ever know
from
dangers I cannot begin to see
receive
my thanks, O Blessed Trinity.
Centaurea Montana
To yield more blossoms, deadhead.
Or, let seed heads mature:
they brown, they dry, they scatter
to sprout and add allure
to unassuming corners,
attracting butterflies,
and buzzers who make honey,
and beauty-loving eyes.
My
Friend Len
Like
a squirrel
on
a rock
in
a bath
for
the birds
I
have tried
in
my way
to
be clean.
Kathryn Ann Hill has published over ninety poems in print and online journals since 2003. At http://pendemic.ie/?s=Kathryn+Ann+Hill you will find her pandemic poems.
No comments:
Post a Comment