Poplars

A fair tableau upon the land—
the meadow where the poplars stand.
Across a blooming throw of green,
their ruffling row adorns the scene.
So grand and tall their branches reach,
their whispering fronds, as nature's speech—
with silver-green of fluttering leaf,
each waving limb, a dancing sheaf.
The poplar bends to summer's breeze,
its soft response, swaying with ease—
and there beneath its gentle sway,
the dappled sunlight goes to play
among the bright wildflowers there,
whose blossoms nod in freshening air.
The poplar speaks with shifting word,
and answers call of mockingbird,
who perches for a moment high
upon an upper branch to fly
from graceful bough, over the land—
the meadow where the poplars stand.

© 2011 Katharine L. Sparrow