The Trees Acquire New Dresses, a poem by Glenda Taylor
Once again, as spring begins,
the trees acquire new dresses. Floral prints.
First the one I call the bliss-bestowing tree, a variety of magnolia,
soft pink flowers, doubled, laden with delicate scent,
followed soon by another, the tulip tree,
it’s purple blooms vibrant, and then the redbud
and the peach tree, ahh, bee and butterfly heaven,
and even a second young peach, grown from a cutting of the first,
has its premier blooms today. The conservative pecan
certainly hasn’t shown its color, always last to trust the spring,
and the pear tree and the plum are late blooming,
but the maples are red, red, and the wild cherry in the meadow
adds its touch of palest pink. The red oaks are glowing.
Tiny blooms on the other hardwoods are so small
they’re barely seen, but the bees show they’re there,
adding their buzz to the overall scene.
Later there’ll be more, every day a wonder,
from now to next fall’s frost.
But this is the beginning, as
just so, once again, breath taking, as always,
in spring, the trees acquire new dresses.
Arboreal fashion show.