There are green leaves that bow and flitter,
Who spank the air with softened strokes,
Some who have made the trip to grasp forever,
Only to be found among the dying folk.
My face may seem a bit surprised,
My eyes wide open but smaller dear,
My hat, my cover for warmth devised, is bent and brittle,
The nose, the nose, it’s big I know, but I’m calling
The little birds, to make their home, to prosper more,
And share the space without falling.
I’m here, I cry, with the greens painting my face,
But I know, I look and see, and prosper more,
As critical a design, and nails,
They’ll hold me in this space.
Ralph Peck
Photography by
Carla Hammer
Just south of Claremore,Oklahoma
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