You wouldn’t know
Each kissing bough
Avoids by hair’s-breadth’s swing;
Re-swing.

Delicious how
Obtaining now
Combed-straightness
Under branchèd reach;
My height-blessed friend
Enters the arboreal arch –
Now christened such by
Traipsing squirr’ls
Sent scurrying.

He stands and smiles;
Opens the whiles,
Whene’er he walks the path.

©2020 Chelsea Owens

Photo by Isham Krb on Unsplash

Acrostically cobbled together for Di of Pensitivity’s Three Things Challenge.