Читать книгу The Hatching of the Heart - Margo Swiss - Страница 16

Poplars aglow surely know of times to come,

simply throw themselves into life—

reckless as lovers, reel sideways

skyways, any way, agile beyond belief

every leaf angling, spun in sun

awash with light

in spite of dry heat.

What does it mean

that these brave trees seem eternally bent upon

such a vast chloroplastic blast

long to outlast their first June greening

too soon cast down, silvered

under God’s own eye?

May we never forget

their photosynthetic rush against all odds

how weathering harsh storms they warm

(for a time) even these dull-rooted

winter-ward hearts

they bow to.