Eastertide
The latest funeral has come and gone—
Now all remaining mourners must move on.
Though tired, we choose to walk, to look around—
And find a tiny pine in just-turned ground.
We stop to stare at cuteness so overt—
With long-leaf needles like a hula skirt.
Its still-straight trunk tops out in triple shoots—
Perhaps two feet above its buried roots.
Such takes the place of what expired last year—
An elder specimen removed from here.
Encouragement can come from some new tree—
Thanks be to God for serendipity.
Jane Blanchard lives and writes in Georgia (USA). Her poetry has recently appeared in Lighten Up Online, Molecule, and Panorama. Her latest collection is Metes and Bounds (Kelsay Books, 2023).
Amethyst Review 