Green growth
glows through
the omnipresent
gloom.
Ferns, soft moss,
and ivy
thrive in hives of
shade and dew.
Here, Nature’s green
is not gold.
The pigment
is common as
a copper cent,
forgotten
in your pocket,
and unlikely
to be spent.
Her early leaf
remains a leaf
all the gray-steeped
day.
Enduring as
fair Eden
and the north sun’s
winter rays.
In this place
of live abundance,
absence guilds
the eye-
the stilling of breeze,
a gap in the trees,
the felled frames
of alder
and pine.
pm poetry 