It is a gift to see
\nhow Catawba once loved us.
\nWelcomed our fences,
\nthe large verandas
\nwith cottages in the center,
\nlike wooden daisies
\nbeside the swells of the lake,
\ndaylilies reaching
\nwith orange planets
\ninto the sand.<\/p>\n
In winter fragments of snow
\nblowing into the woods,
\ngrapes and little ferns
\nsheltered by bushes
\nin the spring.
\nSummer expanding into trees
\nand gardens with sensual arms,
\nits humidity falling over
\nthe unpainted sills of windows.<\/p>\n
Light falling through the cracks
\nand fissures of floors.
\nA camp for the wet faces
\nof children,
\nand old hands holding sticks.
\nHere, off this lane
\nfrom a century of pavement
\nand wheels,
\nrobins lay blue eggs.<\/p>\n
The grass grows like a flower bed.
\nVines hang playfully from branches,
\nand a generation of lost croquet
\nand balls returns,
\nwith bare feet,
\npicnic baskets,
\ncotton clothes,
\nand sunshine
\npoured from Kool-Aid pitchers.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It is a gift to see how Catawba once loved us. Welcomed our fences, the large verandas with cottages in the center, like wooden daisies…<\/p>\n