The Wayfarer, the Miners and the Huckberry

I sang of wayfaring today,

my song-wave

out of tune

with the words

next door.

 

The huckberry

chuckberried

in the late afternoon,

an audience of birds

chortling

once more.

 

Gently the arborists

say the tree

should go

from its city berth,

its self-seeded ambition

over.

 

For the sake

of my friends

sipping their song,

I pretend

I can trek

with a tree on my back.

 

Copyrighted by the author

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