Sometimes, I write poems.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
The coniferous are the least vociferous.
Your pines, larches, firs -- these know.
Winter's coming, we're staying the course.
The bravest cypresses were Vincent's.
January's going to freeze your sap
so shut your yap.
That was the call
bellered by a redwood. A shiver
acquiescent shook needle to cone.
Dudes, when things get rough, drop.
The deciduous forest nodded, knocking a few
leaves free early.
Someone will rake us.
In the meantime, think April-thoughts.
c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2010
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