SPRING What magic’s this - - this touch of powdered gold On willow wisps? Whose hand, whose hand is this That taunts noon groves of shaded green with bold Dew diamonds? Does snow’s intentioned kiss Of bridal pears give hints of jealousy Or love? And what expectancy has laid A crash of royal-purple violets on The wintered feet of forest crosses? We Aren’t victims of cruelest joke yet made If such enchantment’s only lent us to forget. Accept all night pools flecked with stars of froth Anemones! Accept sweet summer snow! Accept bold tiger lilies! Bear phlox-cloth That heathers barren rocks! Poor Jericho’s Wild rose will, blooming fall; queen crocus rise And die, magnolias will unlock their hearts To dawn and give their blood till twilights ring Night’s bells. What need have we to test the skies? They’re blue! What need have we to know the parts? We are! Why ask if all’s but jest? IT’S SPRING! jo_dis 2010