Saturday, April 18, 2009

Poetry Class!

When trees toss in high wind and a suspicion
of rain travels across their dark faces,
I long for the old summers under smoky oaks.
Whoever I am, it's not who I thought.

Who is it the rain and wind wake with their sigh?
That tree-lover, summer-lover - try and find him,
was he ever there? Did he love? Was he love?
Shh, say the trees, listen closer, listen closer.

"Wind in Trees" by Henry Shukman

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