Les plus lus ▸
Bruce Ross
early spring warmth
the peony petals tight
around the bud
Her life was dwarfed, and wed to blight,
Her very days were shades of night,
Her every dream was born entombed.
Her soul, a bud, — that never bloomed.
With green-stained bark,
Rising like a tower of the sea,
From the smooth park.
He is a giant among trees,
And he has watched this house for centuries.
His bark is hard as rock,
Time and Sun and the Wind's shock
Have twisted his boughs till they are like the arms of a great carven figure of Care,
Flung in passionate appeal to the changing humour of the Air.
Now on high branches sticky buds appear.
Promise of growth and beauty for the year. —
It seems my life is an old tree.
And the young buds are your sweet love for me.