Dorothy Brown ’22
The twirling seeds of maple trees The twirling seeds of maple trees Fall to the cold concrete. They burrow in the rotting leaves, And beneath the snow they sleep. With tender shoots of hopeful green They raise their heads in spring, Soon learning that the sidewalk will not Care for living things. It saddens me to see them die To blossom nevermore; I must remember they are saplings, Nothing more.
8
