Mothers of sons dream troubled dreams

of blowing leaves and anniversaries.

Give me an energetic brush every time

 

it smells like winter, trees sigh softly

and nature floats my boat. Red and gold

leaves scurry along in the force

 

the pungence of words strong enough

to sting the nostrils, sweet enough

to bless the ears

 

glamour in fleece and recognition

nutmegs and mountains, sunset and birdsong

written retribution... nature doesn't care

 

blue mountain kisses bring a summer's day.