February 27, 2015

The Story of the Pink Tree. {Poem}

Photo: Marc oh! via Flickr.

I’ve been watching a tree bloom

In the back yard. Hour by hour,

day by day, the blossoms burst open

in tiny little explosions of rebirth.

The tree goes from bare branches

to being cloaked in pale pink miracles.

Like one of those time lapse videos.

Only spread out over four or five days.

Bees dance from flower to flower.

Their buzzing a full-throated shout,

proclaiming, declaring, exalting,

demanding, insisting, mocking,

“We’re not all dead yet, Monkey-boy.”


A half a wisp of air arrives and departs

causing a single petal to break free

and tumble to the sun-warmed earth.

My uncouth rational self suddenly

blunders into the Story of the Pink Tree.

I begin to worry.

It’s far too early for this tree to bloom.

The warm weather has tricked it.

Deceitfully heralding the arrival

of Spring much much too soon.

A stiff wind could sweep the blossoms

from the tree, laying it bare once more.

Sometimes life comes at me

Faster than it should.



Life Moves Fast.


Author: Michael Greenhalgh

Volunteer Editor: Kim Haas/ Editor: Ashleigh Hitchcock

Photo: Marc oh! via Flickr.

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