This spring, the branches
of the weeping cherry tree
across the street
hung low, heavy with beauty
and swirled around the trunk
like a woman’s skirts,
shifted by the slightest breeze.
This too is how my children move,
teeming ’round my legs
as we set out for an evening stroll.
Shifting forward and back,
they whirl like an eddy at my feet
and it seems to me that I am not the center,
but simply caught up in their current.
Photo source: HERE.
This post is linked with dVerse Poets Pub.