I hope to see black locust blossoms again
In the spring when showers come.
I know they will be back.
They're leaving now, withering, fading, their color spent.
I think I'll probably be here, too.
One never knows.
Of course they'll come again,
Their pendant blooms fresh,
Glowing quietly in the new foliage,
Hanging in their tall trees
Against the pale, spring sky.
I wonder if bees like them?
I know they must.
I think it's their modesty I like best,
And the knowledge
That they could put on quite a show
If they wanted to.
But they don't.
Harold Bishop composed this poem in May 2019. He also volunteers with the UW Farm.