UNDER THE PEACH TREE

_­­­­­­­_________________________________________

John Herlihy

There in the far meadow a blossoming peach tree;

Its inviting branches extended as if beckoning me.

I lay down under the peach tree a lazy afternoon;

In the mercy of its shade, I feel falling in a swoon.

For many reasons special, but blossoming no less;

The budding tree had called me to come I confess.

Ever since those tiny spring eyes of bloom lay open,

Drawing me out of myself with its magical potion.

From the skeletal stick-like stems to its leafy buds,

Urged on by the watery voices of the spring floods.

From such leafy buds to snowy virginity of blooms,

As wind spreads the intoxicating scent of perfumes.

How? Why? From whence do such things happen?

Mother nature weaves such a magnificent pattern.

The song of the flute forgotten and remembered,

So many emotional tales told, then dismembered.

The singing I heard had nothing to do with my ears;

The emotion I felt had nothing to do with my tears.

The alto chant of the bussing bees as they did roam,

Basso profundo of panting wind as sunlight shone.

Peach blossoms breathed forth a breathless spell,

Giving life to mysteries no one else could ever tell.

I saw one bee sink into the sanctum of the bloom,

As if it were entering the privacy of its own room.

The living, breathing tree seem to shiver in delight,

Sights and sounds a confirmation of nature’s might.

Summoned I was, as if drawn into the inviting shade,

Just lying there, lost in a world, waiting to be made.

- - - - -

(c) John Herlihy 22 February 2020