Playing the Indian Card

Tuesday, September 29, 2015

The Winter Cherry

after Chuei Hu

Last year, on this mountain,
Poetry was a cherry garland on her shoulders,
Redder as her face grew deeper red.

I return; she is nowhere, only dreams.
But look--in verses, cherries are in blossom.
Surprising, vivid pink against the snow.

-- Stephen K. Roney

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