The Maples Have Lost their Leaves
and an early snow lies loosely on the ground.
Green spikes of grass punctuate pritine pastures.
But oaks hold their leather offerings
well into winter, and the wind —
winter’s shaman — rattles
Chinkapin and bur,
swamp and pin.
The white and the red quercus
will share no shade with me
until spring.
16 thoughts on "The Maples Have Lost their Leaves"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
Good word play and imagery!
Thank you, Shauna
A gorgeous poem, E.E.
My favorite lines:
“winter’s shaman — rattles
Chinkapin and bur,
swamp and pin.”
Stunning. I can hear the oak leaves rustling in the background.
Thank you so much!
Ah, seasonal transitions give way to expectations. I love the imagery in this poem.
Thank you, Virginia!
I love the idea of patches of grass an “punctuating” the snow! An ellipses, perhaps…?
Ah, R.J., that’s a thought! Thank you so much.
I love the cadence of this piece– the flow and the capture makes the poem feel like a secret spell! Great write!
Thanks ever so much!
I, too, appreciate the oaks, love the swamp oak we planted on the curb strip now towering over the house, got angry when the electric company butchered our pin oak out back
We just “lost” an elderly bur oak on my street, but I have to admit, it was diseased and falling limbs had become a risk.
Love the sounds in this poem. It’s shivery and such a lovely description of the marcescent leaves—I can feel the cold beauty of this place.
“and the wind —
winter’s shaman — rattles
Chinkapin and bur,
swamp and pin.”
Thank you so much, Elaine!
Beautiful poem.
Love: “But oaks hold their leather offerings/well into winter,”
Thank you, Pam!