The bird’s thirst finally quenched of the flower’s nectar
Like luscious fruit born of the bee’s eventual sprinkle
Lashing wind slowed by spinning staying trees
Leaves forced free by passing bitter
Growth’s reliance on spring’s glow
Tree haven for the moss’ mosey over the bark
The fierce wash of the shore by the moon moved ocean
Laid bare and baked in the tide’s inevitable retreat
Fresh and foreign fill canopy chasms
Layers deepen
Trees and moss tuck in the house tight
Misted wooded fence emits its true tint
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