Copper Trees.

Copper Trees.

 

Beneath the Copper trees

the black crows cawed

and hopped and skipped

and in Crow thought, they thought

of the dark, dead eyes of Ted –

whose poems I never really read

though urged by you who now have

your own dark, dead eyes,

so you and Ted can look at one

another and think of crows

skipping, hopping, cawing

and Iron men as well.

 

And in the park with the dancing crows

under the Copper trees,

schoolgirls moved through the grass

dew drop beads with early sun

mirrored on the water curves

clinging to their schoolgirl shoes;

i-pods stuffed inside their cares

and rapper songs stifling ears

 

life is a walk in the park

a dream in the dark

walk in the park

dream in the dark:

 

flat black crow

not part of the crew

 

sailed across the blue heaven

and I wished your eyes were bright with life

so you could tell me all about Ted’s crows,

his Iron men, and as old men we could

remember when our eyes were filled

with teenage schoolgirls rocking, twisting,

moving, dreaming, and crows were just big ugly black birds.

*      *      *

 

September, the land flooded with sweet light

and the mellowness of Autumn.

The fields a choir of dark green

with harvest, pale yellow

shapes and the hills curtained

in mist.

 

 

 

 

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