THE black water tower thrusts up
From the midst of the black young elms
Like a shout out of silence
Startling the sky.
The envious trees
Stretch tiptoe, striving
Toward that unattainable height.
("Surely," they think, "it is only a tree
Wintry-black, and curiously shaped....")
With indifferent superiority
The water tower overtops them,
Standing unmoved while they tremble and shake in the wind.
But April is coming....
Nora B Cunningham