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

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