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Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Trees Fly Kites at Night

Full moon rounding shadows on frosted field.
The stolen kites of summer's children branches wield.
Higher winter winds drive phantom midnight flying.
This captured delight, this silhouetted fun pulls my eye in.

Leafless branches raised to the air,
toking and teasing loops a dragon, threadbare.
Joyful arms silently begging a turn at the string.
Of a shadow play of play by the parents of puppets' wood I sing.

The last years' children, the next years' parents.
The trees of every year, stand
to capture when the string of youth's hope will break
and lessons of old will come to be the understanding
of those they teach.

1 comment:

laamie said...

so beautiful and true and deep.lo