She would send me photos/
of tall SoCal tropical trees/
silhouetted in the red sunset;/
dancing in the warm sea breeze.
As if to entice me/
to visit and to stay./
To warm my feet in the sand/
and watch the palm trees sway.
I returned the photo favor/
of a frigid, streaming sunrise:/
A frosted cottonwood silhouetted/
against cold blue mountain skies.
T’was not to tempt her, nor to say I was coldly sad,/
but to remind her to be grateful for the warm beauty she had.
Cyrano Writer: Musings of a Revolutionary Romantic Poet 
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