A Book Review
From Alabama’s red clay earth she runs.
Her forebears, Englishmen. A welcome song
is heard all through the green wood in the sun
and with the loving dove she sings along.
Her tunes are written for the lavish oak:
her love; the red, red flutter of their leaf.
And if you sense that heart with which she spoke
you’ll find among her pages bits of grief.
Atop the swaying Chinaberry tree
she found her way when climbing, as a child.
A glancing back in rhyme her memory
where borrowed thoughts from nature is her style.
Oh, happiness a tearful book of Now
as verses calm the speaker with a vow.