She springs fiery

She haunts me from outside the window
her branches seldom still are.
Her old wrinkly arm stretches heavenwards.
Though she died last autumn,
her children are now new.
Her soul is eternal,
till the day spring can’t spring her anew.
In her grave she will bloom,
with all of the star.
She’ll be raindrops and tears
from celestial eyes.
She loves me and haunts me,
with her deadly affair.

~ by Aquatic Poetry on May 2, 2010.

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