WHAT heather is parading along the park in a mist with leather yellow that is fading, mingling with amethyst? Tips of branches! Trees in winter! As I stumble, plunder, crush through the nimble leaves I wonder why it is ever said the trees are dead I can never take it in. The trees are wading naked in translucent waves of underbrush. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WORDS IN A CERTAIN APPROPRIATE MODE by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE CENTER OF GRAVITY by DAVID IGNATOW THE STARLING; SONNET by AMY LOWELL THE NEW APOCRYPHA: THE FIG TREE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NOTHING WILL CURE THE SICK LION BUT TO EAT AN APE' by MARIANNE MOORE |