Cherry Trees, Apple Trees, Crabapple Trees as Temple Domes
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Our souls go out of us when cherries bloom.
Our souls go winging out, but not quite free.
Instead they have to play the part a groom
Plays, worshipping white beauty on the tree,
Or if the limbs are like a sacred pink
Our souls go soaring to them lacking choice
Because the branches do their springtime prink
That makes the April worshiper rejoice.
Some sorts of apple cleave together both
The pink and white. This sacrament destroys
The power of will. There is no need for oath
Like brides and grooms. The rites of spring have poise
Enough to mesmerize the spirit. Whites
And pinks create the old new holy sites.
~ Phillip Whidden