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After the holiday
staring down the dusk
at the window:
a rabbit in the yard.
Surprising since the rabbits
vanished into the deep woods
when the children and that young
sapling were just a few feet tall.
It hops from sparse snow
to the camouflage of dead leaves
where the oak gained forty years
of girth and height
still growing now into its
stateliness.
The rabbit melts into the rooted earth
and the brown-gloved hands
of the tree release at last
their tenacious hold
and flutter to the ground.
On its bare bones
buds burst
and soon the green-flesh arms
lift up to greet the
mysterious
auspicious
brave
new year.
© by Carol Amato.
Used here with the author's permission.
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Carol Amato says poetry has allowed her to assume many lives—to date, a much-longed-for job as a waitress, a slightly mean-spirited child, an escape artist seeking to find herself, an adventurer soaring with raptors, and more. Carol’s realities include being a language-learning specialist, a natural science educator, and the author of 11 books for Barron’s Educational Series and Backyard Pets, Nature Activities Close to Home, published by John Wiley & Sons. Carol, who lives in Boston and Cape Cod, considers herself fortunate to have both an active imagination and enough reality to survive.
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barbsteff:
brown-gloved hands - easy. Many oaks, if not all, hold their leaves well into the winter and toward spring. Those leaves are brown. Lovely, visual poem, close observation.
Posted 01/11/2019 01:39 PM
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Jean Colonomos-1:
Love the pictures you paint.
Posted 01/11/2019 09:44 AM
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cork:
What years will do for trees is amazing!
Posted 01/11/2019 08:46 AM
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