Tree at the Corner Where I Turn Each Day
I have watched you all winter, old tree,
broodingly content,
resting on a secret,
Your black-brown body
careless of the wind, the rain, the snow;
Preening now here, now there,
but never moving from your seat.
Now your secret is out-
For a brood of wild flowers
have pecked their shells,
and stand, soft and trembling,
under your wings.
To a Tree, by Emma Varies Meyer
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