Poetry Month
Trees have budded and bowed, petals littering the grass. Their golds are green now and shade has returned to the land. Oak tree catkins drape themselves on the azaleas and maple seeds helicopter down.
Nature seems ready to burst with all this growth and all this gladness. It needs an outlet. It needs a poem. Even this one:
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
Happy National Poetry Month!
