My love is like a tree, he said.
Ah, wrinkled bark, she said,
No, he said; like this tree here!
Many branches, pointing
to all the stars!
Deep roots, covering the meadows!
The migrating wing'd gossips
return like clouds
from southern climes!
Fallen leaf ? - a message sent
in the haze and smoke
When All Saints approaches,
rust, pumpkins and Thanksgiving;
trees still stitch
heaven and earth together!
early - I have no time next week. I wrote it for a birthday this week.
If I can get my other computers working, I shall have a picture.