My witch balls, reflecting Autumn...
Elegy
Our final dogwood leans
over the forest floor
over the forest floor
offering berries
to the birds, the squirrels.
to the birds, the squirrels.
It’s a relic
of the days when dogwoods
of the days when dogwoods
flourished—creamy lace in April,
spilled milk in May—
spilled milk in May—
their beauty delicate
but commonplace.
but commonplace.
When I took for granted
that the world would remain
that the world would remain
as it was, and I
would remain with it.
would remain with it.
“Elegy” by Linda Pastan from Insomnia.
