The dogwoods will not bloom this year,
We feel it in trunks and limbs,
No pink crosses to calm our fear,
White X’s for our O’s.
Packed endurance of snow too long,
Twigs and logs needed for fire;
Spring dragged in bereft of song,
Fruit and flower in vain desire.
They won’t bloom after such a freeze
And the orchards will follow suit,
No pink cheeks for our apple trees,
White U’s for our I’s.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Still Life, Still Sacred
Renaissance painters would use life-sized wooden dolls called manichini to study how drapery folds on the human…
Letters
I am writing not to address any particular article, but rather to register my concern about the…
While We’re At It
Propaganda: misleading and biased portrayal of facts, often used to inculcate and reinforce an ideology or political…
