by Paul C. Binotto © 2019 Papa, tell me why Do you think,The flowers drink, Not from their mouths, But, from their feet?And, how does a roseSmell so good, thoughIt hasn't a nose?Papa, how, do you think?Tell me all that you know.And, Papa, tell me please,Why they're called leavesWhen they never G0 anywhere ever;Why aren't … Continue reading Flowers and Days
by Paul C. Binotto © 2018 While new-seed still sleeps within its sack, And the tools on racks, still burnish rusty stain,the blossoms and the birds have just come backto roost upon tree limbs, again. Proud Robins display, from out unbuttoned coats, their rosy vests. Loud and busy, they are about the knitting of new … Continue reading Blossoms and Robins
by Paul C. Binotto © 2019 Old-faithful, evergreen eruptions, pierce the sky. Like Paschal candles, Sun-flame flickering off their tops remind us, not all beneath the snow-white funeral cloth is dead; but lives still, reposed in quiet hibernations. To awake refreshed, ready to re-clothe the spirit when spring comes.