The
red chestnut speaks of a pathos released into productivity.
What
ring of time
gives
significance to planetary measures,
spinning
reason
as
white gold, like a wreath
of
natural solidarity and commitment
to
eternal realms beneath your branches.
My
child and I took hands under the red chestnut tree
then
walked along the roadside.
Her
heart was a cloistered contemplation,
mine,
a despairing tear, welling
up
from pathos.
Could
I really worry anymore
that
I would not find my way
along
this mercy road?
The
sweet peas waved
their
bonneted heads.
Emily Isaacson
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