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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 |
