Thursday, June 17, 2010

After the Storm


Purple iris bow

in exhaustion

and absolute submission.

Morning sun glistens

on deciduous leaves

of low-growing underbrush.

Twisted Pin Oak leaves

hang heavy

in the wake.

The heavy Hostas cannot lift

a heavenward leaf.

One lone bird

sends forth

a hesitant chirp;

then another,

and once more

the woods come alive

with morning song.

-Joy S. Barefoot

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