My Longing

A helicopter found a place to land, and hide, right next to my garage.
I don't know if it was one, two or three years ago, but when I found her,
She was a foot and a half tall.  When I pulled her up the toddler did not object,
But went along, LETTING me transplant her over by the road, in the sun, in her own space.




A nearby tree is 30 feet (twice its years in height), with leaves all deep and green.
It's tall and straight and healthy too, but WAITING still for rain.
In tree years this maple is a teen.  He could play baseball in the hot and dusty empty lot all day,
And then drink his fill later, when he finally must grow up.

The lilac bush has reached her prime.  Yes she blossoms every spring,
But for some reason, my favorite aroma is hardly noticed now.
She seems content with GROWING extra branches that must be trimmed
Away from the sidewalk so I can rush past her perfume to my eager truck.








Right by the deck, the giant old Maple still stands.
Most of him.  The older he gets, and the higher he reaches, the less he cares while his
Body parts fall on my deck and my house and my yard.
He is LONGING to know if he, when the time comes, will be harvested and used for a new glory,

Or fall, and rot away.