Red All Over
Why is it we don’t sing
the reds of spring?
The coral carmine nipples
that lip each/every twig,
the rust pink kisses puckering
grey limbs, the mountainside’s tipped
blush?
April in the Catskills–
(Who knew?)
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Here’s a kind of silly poem for I don’t know whom– it is gloriously red up here in upstate New York – every deciduous tree you can see (practically) tipped with a deep pinkish red. Hard to photograph but pretty cool, pretty pretty.
ManicDDaily 
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