Saturday, February 9, 2013

Climate

Climate

The cherries fall for the jester
named Winter, and bloom in January,
soon to wrinkle
under the cold breath's wrath,
never to pollinate.
The old ringed trees wait,
feeling gravity as the tides;
Yet never fearing the blizzard.
Only the warm hurricane
or soil gone sour rots their thoughts.

Robert L. Jackson

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