the leaves on the red oak,
leftovers from last summer's feast,
well, they tremble just like you;
and those white pines over there,
they shimmy and sway,
and show their petticoats,
like you sometimes do;
those swallows form a flying V,
and the leader somehow
always knows where to go,
just like you;
and the crocuses, peeking
tiny heads out of the snow,
they peer at me,
with more than passing
curiosity,
much like you;
and all of that
makes me dwell on you,
as I am happy
for your noticing me.
March 6, 2009, for Kimberly.
Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.
3/6/09
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