He's as high as a georgia pine, my father'd say, half laughing. southern trees
as measure, metaphor. highways lined with kudzu-covered southern trees.
fuchsia, lavender, white, light pink, purple : crape myrtle bouquets burst
open on sturdy branches of skin-smooth bark : my favorite southern trees.
one hundred degrees in the shade : we settle into still pools of humidity, moss-
dark, beneath live oaks. southern heat makes us grateful for southern trees.
the maples in our front yard flew in spring on helicopter wings. in fall, we
splashed in colored leaves, but never sought sap from these southern trees.
frankly, my dear, that's a magnolia, i tell her, fingering the deep green, nearly
plastic leaves, amazed how little a northern girl knows about southern trees.
i've never forgotten the charred bitter fruit of holiday's poplars, nor will i :
it's part of what makes me evie : i grew up in the shadow of southern trees.
A nicely crafted poem. So delicately written. Thanks for the sharing.
Lovely poem. The natural environment of a place where we grow up is never away from us.
Evie, you are a great lover of nature and the reader can say it with conviction now, Thanks for sharing a beautiful poem.
one hundred degrees in the shade: we settle into still pools of humidity, moss- dark, beneath live oaks- - - - - - yes, indeed, the southern humidity WEIGHS on you feels like the grossest-hot sweaty uncleansing shower you will ever be in. pools of humidity- a most perfect phrase for the most unpleasant feeling
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This a wonderful poem thanks for sharing it with us.