Eclipse of the Moon by Mary Susanah Robbins - HTML preview
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I have the language of coffee cups
now that the trees are gone.
I exiled them to the forest
that they might not wake us at dawn.
All winter I sat drawing their moods
but in the spring we parted.
Now trees are strong or bold or soft
but I am broken-hearted.
Yet still they come to me with lines
left over from our fling;
drink to the trees, my silent friends,
when you wake in the Spring.