Coming of season

By: Devin Powell

No clear water, no clean water,

Only smelly green murk.

No turtles, no fish,

Only stinky green muck.

Empty waters, empty of life,

Only that smelly green murk.

Empty of plants, empty of beauty,

Only small edging weeds.

But there at the far edge,

A shade of red.

Red of what?

Red of rose? Red of leaf?

Thereon the east side,

Stands the shade of red.

The red, with the brown trunk, green leaves.

It’s the first bloom of the eastern redbud.