mid-day poem, march 29, 2016



In April the hillside spring is still covered with last autumn’s leaf fall

And marked only where the brown forest blanket is blackened

With the soak and seep.


Who would brush away this covering

And kneel and take double handfuls for drink

And feel enlivened by the cool, new tingle?


There are yet cold days ahead, even in April

Then the spring’s water will not refresh

But only chill the raw skin.


copyright 2016

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