Monday, December 19, 2011



A pair of Carolina wrens—one in the lilac, the other in the dead cherry—flit from branch to branch, tasting the new-fallen snow.---Dave Bonta, The Morning Porch, 12-18-11 

Snow on those branches, lilac or cherry,
will not mask the taste of autumn chill.

Frozen twigs are just as brittle as dead
vines on the mottled lattices blown off

from their rotten moorings. Will nails
hold them down at next riveting? How

firm will their hold be on these trellises?
Even this abandonment will not last.

That bush will bloom again, the tree rises
again to restore those spattered perches.

They cannot die those who have sprung
from the earth when living is still in style.

— Albert B. Casuga

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