Ode to the Bush

Claire, there is a wilderness here,  

a thicket untouched by razors' diplomacy.  

Its wildness pulls me to its center,  

where shadows nestle and softness reigns.  

I find it absurd how often the world,  

tries to trim its forests to obedience.  

But gazing here feels ancient, eternal—  

like stumbling upon a mythic grove.  

Your sister, Blair, a meadow by contrast,  

bare as bone, clear to the horizon.  

Yet I wandered back to your labyrinth,  

to the intimate whisper of tangled branches.  

There’s a freedom in your refusal to yield,  

a rebellion I’ve learned to admire.  

Not just the bush, but the declaration,  

the defiance against the pruning shears.  

And so, I grin like a mad botanist,  

digging for treasures among the bramble.  

Unkempt, unapologetic, deeply alive—  

a forest only the bold could cherish.