Spring's Child
This cool Friday a.m.'s rain
Is stranger than any I've ever seen.
The unruly air is awash with precipitation —
Drops of yellowish-brown pine needles
And white-birch, oak, and maple leaves
Painted with impastos and gouaches
Of deep red and gold.
The sky is crying
For the demise of spring's only child.
09/24/10 - (2)
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