Cross-legged on the porch,
The warm air plays in her dress,
Flirting in her sweet hair
While she cracks open pecans,
As if they hold some illicit indulgence.
My sprightly tree, her wide fruit mouth
That holds laughter like a summer brook
Gives my eyes a taste of her smile;
One that makes them misty
For that sweet pecan and honeysuckle.
I see her limbs like pretty branches
Reach up to the sun in a yawn
That out-sings the birds who live
And nest nearby, fondly beholding
Her every sylvan movement,
Her sway that mirrors the willow's dance,
Caresses me with her scent's warm whisper
Graceful and ever so tender
Against the morning's glow.
Oh, my cherished tree,
The way I have climbed your length
Time and again, through your
Wise and welcoming boughs
And yet, I have never grown tired.
