The White Aspen

Dear Ortho, In some foreign culture, That you and I both wouldn't know, They say when you love her, You hang up a bouquet of lillies In the tallest white Aspen That you could ever find. But, isn't that just dumb? If it was raining, you would slip down the trunk Landing on an ankle in exactly the wrong way. If you were climbing, you would scrape your hands, Ruining their gentle touch forever. If you were hanging, you would get scared, Because you wouldn't be able to come to see me off. If you were thinking, you wouldn't be thinking about her. But whether you had told me where you were. If you were starting to climb, you would start to cry Because I was leaving and we weren't prepared. If you were finally up there, it would be for the wrong reason. Because you're hanging lillies for the wrong person. And when you came down from the white Aspen. At the base where the leaves pile high in the fall With cuts and scraped, drenched in sweat, You would forget those ten minutes When you were being an idiot, And needlessly risking your life. You would see that I would be waiting With my very own white bouquet. Sincerely, Winter C.