Today's poem is by Steven Withrow

Black Locust
       

In spring your clustered flowers are as white
And pendulous as bridal trains,
But nothing's quite
As virginal in you. It rains,
And when your roots dry up, a pool remains:

This ponding makes a handy sparrow tub,
And soon a pollen-yellowed pair
Dip in to scrub
Late April from their outerwear
Of plumage, slinging droplets through the air.

Cynics say you have invasive traits
And counsel care, for you can spread
Like petty hates
In human hearts. Who wants you dead?
Your hardwood makes a stable marriage bed.

And there again a matrimonial link:
No sign of union in you, yet
I start to think
You're as unified as lone trees get.
I stand within your shadow, dripping wet.

The locust borers, when they score your bark,
Will leave their insect autograph,
An aftermark
Of loving hunger. More than half
Will die in weeks. You'll bear their epitaph.

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Copyright © 2024 Steven Withrow All rights reserved
from Able Muse
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission