New Leaves
Voyeurs
Voyeurs behind windows only can guess
The gale by motions of the trees,
Rocking their branches in swung spring:
Effects so matched that sentiment
Paints up a prettiness
From blue-white china skies.
Voyeurs do not know
That wreak of love
That rams the muscle of the tree
Hard armed to hold the raw strung soil
Gripped in a thrive of fierceness;
Or boldly to a tempest breaks
New leaves in blazon
Of direct experience.
© The Estate of Ronald M. White
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