A Rondeau for David McLansky's Laurel
To love a tree, I'd never thought
would be my fate until I sought
her shelter in a fickle clime
and Eros shot us both this time;
Apollo's son and Daphne's daughter.
Sweetly she affirms my court
with pretty sighs while I cavort
on dappled thyme - oh how sublime!
to love a tree.
The birds are charmed by my disport;
I freely fertilize and water
hidden roots before I climb
to squeeze her purple fruits and I'm
relieved it breaks no civil law
to love a tree.
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Comments about this poem (A Rondeau for David McLansky's Laurel by Diane Hine )
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