Yellow

.

.

If these flowers

have a name

I don’t want to know.

Label not

my wild ones,

just let me watch them grow.

.

(c)  2015  Betty Hayes Albright

.

(photo taken yesterday)

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Speaking of Trees

.

.

You call me tree

but what is that to me?

My name is green

in the summer

when the zephyr fondles me.

In winter

I am bare-branch

dancing against a fat sky.

I am home to tiny things

you choose not to see.

I am ancient

unless you chop me down

with your ax

and turn me into wall

or chair

or totem pole.

I like that one

for then you see

my many faces

and I see all of yours

and someday

when you look

the other way

I shall name you.

.

© 2014, 2017  Betty Hayes Albright 

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