smell of pine trees, under half-moon
wafts citrus, musky as burnt wood,
we inhale deeply fragrant breeze
recalling season of spring - soon
soft are needles veiled in deep freeze
under half-moon, smell of pine trees
dark sap, scooped earth, trickling slowly
of zest, upon pine cones wholly
fresh. we make ardent wish: peace, berth
under maple trees - brown, closely
tuffed by light, we witness green birth-
trickling slowly- dark sap, scooped earth
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Poetry Form is Sparrowlet.
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