Poplars. A Poem.

The poplars lost their voice.
Leaves like vocal chords fell silent.

Still, wind pipes through canopies
and raspy utterances remind of the coming

silence on its way.
words rustle on the field of grass.

White noise of laryngitis
will acquiesce to the evergreen’s

whispered prayer for renewal.
Snow will come and settle us.

Each winter gust vibrates
rebirth through the needles.

The poplars will find their voice again
and I will listen, I will listen.

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