See and know this Ceanothus!
How she brags as the bees delight
Spreading her limbs, she curtsies,
too impish to be polite
"Whether wending or wandering,
I cannot be wrong, Spring!"
she laughs as she dances,
perfuming the night
"But how the days grow perpetually,"
she yawns under Summer sun
Now fickle Fall courts tempestuously,
her blury-heart far from won
Exhausted in dry earth, beaten by wind
waiting for Winter's wash from sun and sin
Up she cries, "Let the rain in"
So soaks her weary roots
gnarled from the living and the dancing
Ceanothus
Poetry