Maple Syrup
He will wake soon, cold
in sullied city snow,
and though I've never seen it,
that seems forlorn and grey.
His leaves have fallen and
this season has shaken him.
Winter finds him pale and naked
and takes all he has left,
tapped him like a maple, sapped
for the making of syrup.
So I sit this morning,
with coffee and breakfast
contemplating life -
hoping this harvest
renders something sweet.
Poetry
I like this. You cover the nature theme and the seasons very well and you use them to show us a bit of you. I'm hoping you get something sweet as well.
ReplyDeletethanks V
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