Out for an early morning walk
past cornfields bare this day in March,
I pass a stand of maple trees,
iron spigots stuck out like lips,
sap buckets so full, they’re dripping over.
No one’s around. I straighten
a metal bucket, make ponds of hands,
catching clear, cold liquid in them.
Lap cat-like, the sweetness of a giving tree.
"The Giving Tree" by Laura Davies Foley. Published here via poet submission. © Laura Davies Foley.
Photography credit: Untitled image by unknown photographer, found at this link (originally color).