THE CHERRY BOBBLES

Outside my winter window's pulseless shield,

the wandering fingers

of a bobble tree

probe sightlessly

the cloud-soused London sky,

never idle on this isle

but lusty

for her dangles,

grabbing, losing, tossing, fetching,

spread them far,

"come crashing, cherries!"

cries the wind,

"break fast your shell and spill these seeds

I crave your seeds" he cries, the wind

a wanton wild man, hungry.

 

And the bobbles, grasping gamely

with sap-ebbing stems

call back,

"A moment more, a moment

more

on air."

                                      

- Pamela Cocke