Poetry Archives

Against the high, encircling walls were grapes,
Nailed close to feel the baking of the sun
From glowing bricks.  Their microscopic shapes
Half hidden by serrated leaves.  And one
Old cherry tossed its branches near the door.
Bordered along the wall, in beds between,
Flickering, streaming, nodding in the air,
The pride of all the garden, there were more
Tulips than Max had ever dreamed or seen.
They jostled, mobbed, and danced.  Max stood at helpless stare.