He did it again,
splashing snow on those
stunted beaming bushes who
then lord it over our
more stately
monochromes.
They’re spring
showoffs really––sniffing
at our more glorious
double-season changes
of superior
glowing
virescence.
Then they have
the audacity to litter
the forest floor
with all those
silly petals!
And don’t
weary me again
with tale their quad
blooms are reminiscent
of our Savior’s
cross;
stuntedness
a penalty for
having furnished
the wood He
was hung
upon.
Pine
told me on
good authority
it was oak. Those
snips would say
anything
to explain
away their beauty.
Ask them why in the fall
their ruddy rusted leaves
are setting for near
perfect
crimson berries!
I’d say
Somebody’s
playing favorites.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Lift My Chin, Lord
Lift my chin, Lord,Say to me,“You are not whoYou feared to be,Not Hecate, quite,With howling sound,Torch held…
Letters
Two delightful essays in the March issue, by Nikolas Prassas (“Large Language Poetry,” March 2025) and Gary…
Spring Twilight After Penance
Let’s say you’ve just comeFrom confession. Late sunPours through the budding treesThat mark the brown creek washing Itself…
