Photo by Jannik Selz on Unsplash

On this morning of lowering clouds, with rain on the wind
As I waited with the child for the school bus.
I spied a shrub, something wild
That had settled against the foot of the pine.
Its spreading twigs were wet, so glossy.
Its tracery sent my mind searching for words,
Elegance was there for certain,
And daintiness was evident,
But the one that echoed more
Against the ones I searched for,
Was passion, nothing less
A wild bush with passion was not the meaning,
But the passion of an unseen artist was what I understood.
And so I stood transfixed a moment, child’s hand in mine,
Bus forgotten,
Seeing those delicate strands of wood
Shining against the pine bark,
Laced on the background of grassy green,
Buffs and browns of dead weeds beyond.

In this gallery, this unattempted showing,
Passion could not be denied.

November 2000