Ripe Leaves by Howard Stein

0 129

Get real time updates directly on you device, subscribe now.

“Ripeness is all.”  King Lear. William Shakespeare.

Tough lives, tougher hides,
Texture of perseverance –
Scrub oak leaves,
Mature by late spring,
Await a beating sun
And summer drought.

Broad, hand-shaped,
Deep, glossy green on top,
Fuzzy, pastel matte beneath,
Its bulging veins distribute
Precious nutrient brought
From distant lands,
Root to trunk to branches,
Smaller and smaller,
At last to their destination,
Leaves to store
When the supply chain ceases
From long spells without rain.

Backlit in evening sun,
Thousands of tiny, translucent,
Stained-glass windows
Stage a magic show
From the ends of their narrow twigs –
Gift of delight
In their hardscrabble life.

These rugged leaves
Know nothing of their fate –
If only for a summer,
Ripeness prevails.

Get real time updates directly on you device, subscribe now.

Leave A Reply

Your email address will not be published.