Tipper on Blind Pig and the Acorn reminded me of a poem I wrote a few years ago. In rural areas we often see this scene in spring. Hope you like it.
Narcissi nod to the impotent chimney
pointing black against the sky,
where flames melted the snow,
left only charred debris and heartache.
Beyond a span of unmowed grass
crawling bees hum in crimson cups
of tulips at the well. Beside brick steps
that lead nowhere, forsythia shouts.
Pear trees dress in lacy white
behind the barren barn.
Near the mailbox, a tilted sign,
Farm for Sale.