by Paul J. Willis
The first white pine of the morning
is holding up fistfulls of dollars,
currency of June-green cones,
ready cash soon to be invested in land,
far-flung properties ripe for speculation,
bonds that grow, yielding interest
that never ends.
Compared to this,
the silver coins of aspen leaves
but quick change, spare dimes
in pocket, and the spreading banks
of pinemat manzanita
the dull business of low rent.