Yes, only Willow Creek--
A short three miles
Up the south mountain,

But it ran in silver ribbons
Around a deeply-etched,
Gnarled and spready willow,

And as in high places,
Bright glacier lilies graced
Stone-patched verdant hillsides;

Clustered forgetmenots
Spattered sky-blue
Upon moist mountain earth;

New leaves made maples
Smooth-twigged bearers
Of minute gold-green roses;

The over-size sarvis bushes,
Even more unrecognizable
Now with neither leaves or fruit;

And the white winter feeding
It all, not far beyond,
Creeping ever upward.

04/29/2009

Author's Note: Wednesday evening at the foot of the Wellsvilles.

Posted on 05/03/2009
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes