A love poem about my wife for the springtime
Blooming along a walkway
on Sequoyah Drive,
you are a dogwood tree,
lip-pink flowers blooming,
hypnotic in the breeze;
You are thin and steady,
limbs veiny, reaching to the sky,
your flowers dancing to a native beat,
while I admire you on a sunny April day.
You are pleasant and lovely, dogwood tree,
and here is what I learned,
as I wrote this poem today:
In springtime, you erupt—alive!
announcing winter’s end with blooming pinks and whites,
in June, your dim green leaves are welcome shade
from blistering summer heat;
by autumn, you deepen, flaming red,
before you lay your flowers to sleep until
the warm air comes again.
In every season,
I lay beside you.
As the cool night air comes,
I nuzzle your smooth-supple skin,
all that is underneath your surface,
and I am happy.