Ashes ( dr. c )

Regular mowing of acres of grass, soft bed for children to play upon
Looking up at canopies of shade, moisture evaporates for cool
Ordered rows of ash trees make the prairie town seem planted
Youth frustrates yet we hope that it that it should stay

Are we powerfully young in the wind and the rain that nurtures growth?
Should we seriously inspect ourselves in the morning after the storm?
See how we are better able to buttress ourselves after hardening off
Out here on the prairie. We are meant to be like ashes.

Behind the garden, the golden rod and joe pie fill the air with pleasing chaos
and pollen that irritates. Sporadic in the swamp, the ashes
Tower above bedraggled and irregular. Lucky haphazard accidents all.
Youth cords crooked trunks then burns the winter night away

The wind is tamed but frequent rains fall from the more easterly sky
Here, checking whether we will withstand, isn’t it the same?
Yes, strong and capable but disordered, uncertain that we won’t fall
Expect that some will torch the winter. We are meant to be like ashes.