(no subject)

[mamculuna]

Since I don't write poetry much anymore, I'll celebrate the opening of Poetry Month with one from Robert Frost that I thought of this morning, looking out at the maple coming into leaf in my front yard (but fate didn't put us together, exactly--Bill and I planted it the year we moved in):

Tree at My Window
Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.
Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground,
And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
Not all your light tongues talking aloud
Could be profound.
But tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,
And if you have seen me when I slept,
You have seen me when I was taken and swept
And all but lost.
That day she put our heads together,
Fate had her imagination about her,
Your head so much concerned with outer,
Mine with inner, weather.

--Robert Frost