It will go away

When it has finished its work

The moral of pain

Hoping for peaches

There are rumors in the bloom

Spotless spring morning

First greeting of spring

Most completely indigo

The glad hyacinth 

 Most of what I’ve known 

Wasn’t thinking after all

Tuition of whims

 

 

 Powered by the reef

The wave gathers its body

Then destroys itself

There is still much left

Of stories hardly begun

And of love unspent

the oppressors know 

the power of ignorance

make america dim

 The orange tree trembles

The temptation of fragrance

A feast for the bees

 To reckon of me

I will share stories with you

Come sit by my side

 The miles and the time

Form stories ever changing

The same neverless

 He has been unmoored

Carried by silent currents

No wind in his sail

 Rich do what they want

Then the achingly sad part

Poor do what they must

Still wet from the night

The poppies unfold slowly

Sunny reverence

 This contagious day

I am infected with spring

A plague of beauty

 Starlings doves and quail

Set asunder for cover

When the hawk soars by

 Beyond the heartache

He lives alone by the sea

Tides for company

 I must leave this road

And ramble the timbered hills

Where whippoorwills call

Quail drop from their roost

 The hummingbird resumes its bliss

All morning could be

 Dappled in summer

Adaptable ptarmigan 

Snow pure in winter

           Rule of the rulers

Entertain them with awful

Thinking optional

 Impetuous spring

Unfurls a brilliant tribute

Winter rewarded

 a lad of talent

bearing with such cleverness 

the fair crown of youth

 Then tulips up reach

Goblets of lustrous wonder

Filling with sunlight

The fields are trampled

Handbills scatter in the wind

 After the circus 

 when all is springtime 

blessed ribbons from the sky

wonderful puddles

Tireless artisans 

 Bees expect no gratitude 

Their work is their thanks

Heavens in a breath

The muchness of the moment

Oceans in a drop

 don't be complainin'

if you don't like potatoes

don't dig in my yard

 Dry desperation

The roots are the last to die

And first to repay

 The faithful black dog

Spends the morning on the porch 

Waiting for the truck 

Morning with a  breeze

Sun shinin’ in the back door

The cat’s out to hunt