Eclipse of the Moon by Mary Susanah Robbins - HTML preview

Morning

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.

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