Tiny droplets from the tap; perfect timing of the sap. Trees’ free gifts of God’s great bounty; wooden buckets in every county. Then to kitchen and to table, a syrup known for years, since cradle. And golden color everywhere, lights up the trees with firing flair. Next, leaves depart and feed the earth and maple seeds insure rebirth. Tiny droplets from the tap; perfect timing of the sap.
majored in journalism at NYU in the 50s; received my masters in business from there and worked for Equitable Life in NY for many years. When retired entered antique business and real estate; retired to Massachusetts and Florida; currently do a lot of volunteer work. Friends forced me into poetry due to much writing I had sent to them over the years. So I joined High On Poems. the end, warren
For everything, there is a season, it has been foretold. When I was young and green, securely clinging to the branches of my family Sugar Maple tree, I thought it was the best I would ever be. But here, now,
On Gods mighty canvas The midnight sky lit up by stars Mythological creatures lurk about the universe Voodoo witches busy brewing magical spells Astrologers write the faith of man Trapped in a confused state Seeks the help of fortune traits