Irish Lace

I turned into the avenue
and met a stately row
of young pear trees
shimmering in the morning light.
They were dressed in white flowers
where the night before
had been twigs and branches
of bent-naked-wood.
And when the sun hid
behind a fluffy cloud,
leaving a feathery glow
across the land,
they became an Irish lace,
a cloth of royal pedigree.
And with the wind
holding their hands
they danced a dainty jig for me.
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Volume 2, Issue 1, Posted 5:06 AM, 12.27.2009