Well into April, the morning
is light pouring up from wet ground,
shining as tall ancient trees
which shone out silver and gold
across a newer world.
Now these lesser trees, though leafless
gleam bright in slanted day.
The willows glittering gold
above the cherries’ and maples’
ephemeral attire so bright
I have thus to shade my eyes.
Turning about in the warm spring day
remembering all the glory past
without speaking the ineffable names.
Seeking?
The Quote Box
The real art of conversation is not only to say the right thing in the right place, but to leave unsaid the wrong thing at the tempting moment.
— Dorothy NevillThe Cat Cam
Travels to NZ
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The start of this poem grabbed me!
“Well into April, the morning/
is light pouring up from wet ground,”
My brain won’t let it go . . . :)
Great! Thank you!
Mom loves this one too. Nice time together last night.