The tree covered itself
With a spring cloak
Of chartreuse flowers
With a touch of red
He always said
For a highlight
Drama quite complete.
Dropping garlands
Into the stream.
The condemned bridge
Spans Bear Creek
What car or stick
Or straw will break
Its back?
I am in denial
While crossing
Whistling happy
Carefree
As if it made me lighter
Less of a burden.
I looked back.
Did it always sway that much?
Or moan?
No. Only the wind
Telling jokes to the trees
Uplifting their branches
Into a smile.
The horses come closer,
Quicker to the fence
In spring
And argue at who
Would get the apple first.
Saddled up
They, too, hesitated
At the bridge.
© Elin Babcock. All rights reserved.
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