Orchard trees rest bare in winter
A time for removing broken branches
For guiding form and frame
Somehow, in the cold, false death of dormancy
Sap flows from the lignified veins
Sugar starved and anxious, honeybees
Find the fresh wounds
My saw has opened
They come on warm winter days
Of crisp, blue sky
Sopping with gossamer tongues
The cut surface come alive
With the trees’ sweet blood
Soon transferred to shivering warmth
1-31-18
©2020 Lenny Wells
Thoughts From The Orchard 