in the sun
in scorn, it burns
and shoots out thorns
that yellow the ferns
turning the lawn to hay
hardening the ground as clay

There’s no Joy
in the wind
in haste, it blows
uprooting every rose
sneezing out dust
to me it disgusts

There’s no joy
in the trees
they shed their leaves
as a dog does fleas
in a hot bath
sticking out their branches
with wrath

There’s no joy
in song
it carries along memories
of days I danced in the sun,
fluttered in the wind
and hung on a tree branch limb