Tuesday, April 17, 2007

This Year

Spring isn’t coming.
The tulip shoots, only
A few inches high
Have turned, curled in
On themselves and
Sunk head-first
Into the ground.

The leafless trees
Will not bud. Old white
Leaves still hang
On a few forest branches,
Old, bleached, white:
Last year’s bones.

The maple’s bark is
Dry and gray; all of its
Color has leeched into the soil
And the world is winding down
And we are falling off
One by one.

C. Bronco

2 comments:

Bernita said...

Feels like it.
Actually yesterday I was able to walk out without forty pounds of parka weighing me down.

Cynthia Bronco said...

Every day I drive through a piece of woods, and each spring a few trees hang onto those old white leaves until the new buds come in.
I put this poem up because I was thinking about all those at Virginia Tech, the sadness and the loss.