A Sonnet for Joyce KilmerComparing
a verse to the mighty oak
finding it wanting in final test?
is the childhood's pap on which I choke
sputter rebuttal that lays to rest
loveliness of your imagined trees.
branches, skeletal against winter's sky
death to any soul who sees
dares to dream of spring when birds will fly,
home and shelter in those myriad leaves.
Birds desert and seek the southern star
moment autumn's remnants clog the eaves,
after months of birdshit on my car.
rose is a rose, the sun is yellow.
your pines and oaks: I'll take Longfellow.
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