The Dance Poem by Albert Timper
The Dance
There is a dance growing on the forest floor,
A hemlock and yellow birch entangled ever-more,
Their embrace is straight and strong to the core,
A leaning basswood is cutting in but will not score,
A blanket of snow silhouettes their steps rooted fore,
The dance season will change to coalesce once more.
Monday, August 25, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: dance
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4/27/2024 11:50:42 AM # 1.0.0.1119
