WINTER MORNING WALKS
by Ted Kooser
Just as a dancer, turning and turning,
may fill the dusty light with the soft swirl
of her flying skirts, our weeping willow —
now old and broken, creaking in the breeze —
turns slowly, slowly in the winter sun,
sweeping the rusty roof of the barn
with the pale blue lacework of her shadow.
Photo: K&D Graphics, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Silver Birch Press 