The trees are budding here in Virginia. It’s poetry season for me. Here’s an old one.
In Season
Redbud and cherry blossom.
I feel my sap rising.
In a trance, I’m aware you want me.
In a trice, you put me at arm’s length.
Both are the real you:
flesh and blood,
made of iron.
Enfold me now, for
every blossom fades and falls.
–Suzanne Stroh from Unpublished Poems
