JEWELER'S FROST
When fall is come as now I long for eagle wing
to soar aloft and search the woods below
for that first tree from whence the myriad colors spring
from tree to tree the harbingers of snow.
Perhaps with leaf from first- turned tree and jeweler's glass,
I might discover answers there to why
the cold-struck trees don brilliant hues the self-same night
the frost has brought the news the leaves must die.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment