The Mulberry Tree
By Peggy Strait, a member of Get Your Wordsworth
There is a mulberry tree at the edge of our dock, with branches leaning outward and over the waters of the Hudson River.
It was a warm summer day.
I stood in the shade of that Mulberry tree and ate mulberries as I picked them off the tree. The branches shook and ripe black mulberries fell into the water.
Then I sat at the edge of the dock. My feet were dangling just above the water. I looked down and saw a wave cresting over the sharp edge of a rock just beneath the mulberry tree.
The rock moved! It was not a rock! It was a giant fish eating fallen mulberries from the tree. The fish was at least two and a half feet long and plump. I saw five or six more giant fish
I went into the house to get Roger.
We stood quietly beneath the tree and watched the giant fish swarming in the water just below and eating fallen mulberries from the tree.
We will not tell the fishermen what we saw.
Five Years Have Passed
By Elinor Levin, a member of Get Your Wordsworth
Five years have passed
believing he would come back
to run with me among the cherry trees.
Today I know he will not,
but the cherry trees do not know.
They bloom in profusion for him
below the reservoir
on the bridle path in Central Park.
He will not see their twisted silvery limbs,
their pink and white faces lifted up to the blue sky,
or run on the white carpet of fallen petals.
I give up memories of other springs
running among the cherry trees.
As I read of disaster in Boston, its marathon runners killed and maimed,
I think of the anger he would let fly
at those who would do
such a dastardly thing.