Dogwood Tree

A love poem about my wife for the springtime.

Blooming along a walkway
on Sequoyah Drive,
you are a dogwood tree,
flushed cheeks,
lip-pink flowers blooming,
swaying,
hypnotic in the breeze;
You are thin and steady,
limbs veiny, reaching to the sky,
your flowers dancing to a native beat,
while I admire you on a sunny April day.

You are pleasant and lovely, dogwood tree,
and here is what I learned,
about you
as I wrote this poem today:

In springtime, you erupt—alive!
announcing winter’s end with blooming pinks and whites.
In June, your dim green leaves are welcome shade
from blistering summer heat;
by autumn, you deepen, flaming red,
before you lay your flowers to sleep until
the warm air comes again.

In every season,
dogwood tree,
I lay beside you,
contemplate you—
all that is underneath your surface—
and as the sunlight fades away
I doze off to sleep, happy.