From My Window

Tops of old, old trees
…my eyes can barely reach.
Wise old grandpéres with mossy beards
gaze down at me in silence.
Scanty grayish boughs against
a paler milky sky breathe quietly
in the whisper-wind.

 What’s it like up there?

Just for awhile
I want to be a squirrel
tickling their ancient faces
with my skittering claws,
or a mockingbird
swaying on a lullaby-limb
at the very top.

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About boomergirl47

Retired from the University of South Florida. Love reading, writing, hiking, nature, music, birding, puttering around the house and yard, doing things with my grandsons and spending time with my beau on his beautiful 22 acres in north central Florida.
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2 Responses to From My Window

  1. lcpknox says:

    I love this poem! The imagery in the last lines is especially vivid and unusual.

    Like

  2. boomergirl47 says:

    Thx, Lucinda! The “lullabye limb” imagery was inspired by the old lullaby, “when the bough breaks…the cradle will fall.” That’s my muse at work. I just take dictation! Glad you like it.

    Like

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