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.
Mountain Farm in Spring
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.
