i am a flower.
my petals are  orange and stem is green.
like an earthy mossy green. not crazy crayon green.
in the early mornings i spread my arms to receive the gift of morning dew,
and wonder about my friend, the yew.
from whom i have not heard in many days.
i guess we must have parted ways,
we are both settled, rooted down,
as seeds we spoke then scattered. so on this ground
is where i decide to grow, to live, to make babies,
and on that ground my friend the yew,
she's on that ground,where she too grew,
grows, lives, and will make babies.

when our babies are seedlings scattered
they will meet on the wind,
or at some shallow seedy party not yet wet with a garden's true womanhood.
i hope they will be friends.
i hope one day they too recall
as their roots grow deep and strong,
that once their mothers needed sowing,
and so they do.

i miss my friend, the yew.

i imagine her green needles.
not crazyon green but mossy green, like the earth.
and the redness of her bark, gleaming, upon her child's birth
but not like blood.
my friend the yew,
she too loves the dew,
as it settles from the ocean breeze
upon her green and needly sleeves.