Red Blossoms
Dovid Hofshteyn
1920
On this ancient trunk
With hanging branches, gray flax
I’m a young branch.
To grow: my sole passion.
Green shoot
rising
high
to the bright,
I’ll bring red blossoms
to argue:
World, I’m right!
From this old trunk of mine
I’ll tap
strength from aged sap.
I suckle old wine—
and when night leaves
this cold space,
in its place, with the first
unfolding…
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