There is a singer everyone has heard, Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird, Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again. He says that leaves are old and that for flowers Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten. He says the early petal-fall is past When pear and cherry bloom went down in showers On sunny days a moment overcast; And comes that other fall we name the fall. He says the highway dust is over all. The bird would cease and be as other birds But that he knows in singing not to sing. The question that he frames in all but words Is what to make of a diminished thing.
A winter’s flower. How do I disgrace thee. When you provide me with such symmetry. An all seasons charm.
Winter’s flower. How could I not seek but always see. And, though the footpath is slow to where you are. The earthen tones splendor like a distant star. Winter’s flower by Tree Farm Loop… take a left off Baptist Hill road. Near where the Shakers grow old.