Therese Gramercy . . . the girl named Trees

Shadows of Trees


Cleaning rock gardens and iris gingerly,
gently removing the raffia and autumn leaves,
once a cozy blanket against the winter freeze,
they now the hold the light from the buds beneath.

So it goes, the spring days on bended knee,
hearing angels’ voices on the breeze,
serenaded by treetop chickadees,
at one with the shadows of the trees.