Fall

Some boy had to climb sky
To make trees green sticks

Like little children’s bones
So they don’t break on fall.

A tree stood on our street
Some boy had not climbed.

Against recent wind in rain
It had no green stick bones.

(Reading Robert frosts’ poem “Birches” )

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Tomorrow

It is not to say that the plums
Have grown cold and sweet

A daily sun has eaten plums
For our tomorrow breakfast.

He is who had ripened them
And caused them to wrinkle.

There shall be no breakfast
There will be no tomorrow.

(after William Carlos Williams poem “Just to say”)