Copyright © July 20, 2013 by Douglas W. Jerving.
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My poplars talk about the rain
While still the sky’s a hazy blue.
They sing refrains that they have heard
Ahead even the morning’s dew.
Their leaves grow large atop bowers
They now display though yet so young,
And hum a windy hymn of praise
That heaven’s angels may have sung
Before the dawn of the first day.
Yet angels still could never know
Ahead, and before time’s display,
Creation’s incarnation show.
And so as they predicted, now
The raindrops they said, come. Though blue,
The sky answers with soft sustain,
With pitter-patters just a few.
My poplars though, already knew
And that is why they sang.
This is another poem I wrote a few years ago, and recently
discovered hidden in one of my sketch books. My poplar trees
were growing along-side a rail road track where I used to work.
They were small and easy to extract. I dug them out and
transplanted them to my property. Now they are tall as my
house, and the most beautiful trees on my land. They shimmer
and sing in the wind hours before an approaching storm.
Doug Jerving is the publisher of the NewEdisonGazette.com. You may contact him at
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