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A coyote tunes its ears into the day’s sounds, Sensitive to even the slightest draw of breath.Trunks and branches long fallen, decay outside of time, With a hushed groan for acknowledgement.And now I have made a life out of it, only in a purer form without hurting others (I hope).
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Black arteries of bark Bloom piercing red goblets of blood.
And eager branches reach out to one another, In a frenzy of friendly greeting.
Mighty oaks drop its glistening brown offspring, Full of wondrous hopeful anticipation.
Yet leaves, whose veins were once charged with illuminated vibrancy, Are beginning to dwindle and fade into a dull grim.My love: Encapsulates you from cover to cover Like a book does a single word.My love: Consumes you like a flame Among a blazing fire.Frost laden grass clings to life, Blanketed in troves of colorful death.Frigidness has entered air’s door, And leaves trickle down to earth slowly, In soft puffs of breeze, As they twirl and flitter to an ancient dance.He, along with a yeshiva student, helped answer one question from someone asking what they would be when they grow up. One woman recently defined a Yenta as someone “who minds other people’s business.” Isn’t that exactly what is happening here? There seems to be a generational gap in the understanding of this term.