Saturday, October 23, 2010


Latest autumn windstorm's lopped one of
the Lombardy poplar's brittle uprights.
Prone to borers, cankers and wetwood,
fast grower bound for an early demise,
I'd never have planted the thing—was here
before we were. It's always looked blighted,
half-dead, but as hardscape it's handy. I love
how the hop bine shoots a new spring runner
up the trunk to tangle with the tree's upper
branches. When the poplar leaves are gone for good,
the broad green palms of the hop'll still flutter.
But the breeze, which had calmed, is rising.
Bad mojo to speak of the future, not wise:
the next felling windstorm's always near.

1 comment:

YLM said...

Perilously close to garden poetry! Keep up the good work.