Why She’s a Short-Lived Pioneer

…..
Keep your alders, your hazels,
your horn
-beams; give me the mid
-summer smirch of birch.

Boreal climates bore
me to tears, clickclack their
grey, white black upon my skin.
Give me the silver, yellow sin
of that fine polished moon,
and soon.

Fight if you must, or
might, Bud. Me? I’m all
white bark and red
hot bite.

 

….

Word list from Shawna.