By Dorthy LaVern McCarthy

A conversation has begun

where woods comprise a scene.

The leaves are talking to the wind

in syllables of green.


The gossip flows from twig to twig

and by the garden wall

I hear the burly oak relate

the wildest tale of all.


Why should I listen to the field

for what the grass might say,

when leafy tongues already tell

the story of the day?



Published on November 1st, 2022




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