The tree seems dead, winter-clad in early June. Naked twigs miss their leaves; like I do, I miss them too.
My fat neighbor with a few soft cuts made the tree quite bare. A sorcerer!
We can prune things we fear grow astray. In this zest we are best sorcerers, murderers.
All that's left by this urge to prune is a naked tree in early June. Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa. |