Barren cross-ties of penny-whistle twigs
Mating and parting as the wind
Beats the rhythm of sad songs
With black shafts once hung in gold
Basket-weave tears of ancestral black
Fall in arcs as the ruthless sun
Seeks the heart warm with traces
Which now the snow paints in crushing white.
But upward thrust defy the requiem
And glisten in black affirmation
Or orchestrated songs to be sung tomorrow…..
