Was it wind or trees that whispered
quietly, in soothing tones
yesterday, when you and I were
moving through the park alone?
Wind was first–you said, my love–
to start the linden trees talking.
Then like beating wings of doves
the sound swelled aloft, exalting
in a whispering seduction,
rustling every high leaf,
all their silver sides exposed
with shudders–lovers in a brief
crescendo. Just as quick, the breeze
was gone, leaving us a balm–
a sacred silence in the trees
when all the leaves once more were calm.
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