Eclipse of the Moon by Mary Susanah Robbins - HTML preview

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As a tree bends to the storm,

so this poem.

My rage alone allows

the swing and bow,

tossing to circumstance

as to a dance.

The strong and slippery bark,

shining, dark,

in graceful submissiveness

to all that is,

the wind, the night, the sap,

cracks and snaps

and will not break. The dawn

finds leaves down

and light reveals the tree

exhausted, free.

The turgor in the twigs

resilient springs,

permits the full escape

of prisoned ache

and blowing through the storm

defies all harm.

Weaker, would never bend,

now finds its end

in testing sorrow's root

and perpetual fruit.


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