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An Old Poem

Digging though old files I found something I wrote many years ago.  It was a treat for me to find it. I was sure I had lost it somehow over the years. 

The Realist and the Lonicera

At the rainy end of April while the hills still hold their green
Twinberry’s scarlet trumpets splash the meadow’s edge
twin blossoms paired at the stem hold forth their nectar
luring hummingbirds’ probing tongues
promising feasts for summer jays.

Why this confidence?
Such delicate sheaths should stretch demurely in the watery air.
There is decline! There is decay!
And yet, tender flesh uncurls as though there is no ending
as though it is enough to simply be,
here in the misty April day.

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One Response

  1. Love the poem. Hope springs eternal. : )

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