Poetic Interlude IV

In my rushing to get from one place

To every other needed place,

I feel a joy in this new green world.

For one thousand years the world

Has been under snow and ice

And this new beauty is too much to comprehend.

Nature produces purple? On its own?

A sprinkling of dogwood in the forest

Reminds me that my life is not yet done.

Surely Aphrodite plays in these streams,

Bathing into her newest skin

An Indiana-corn-field sheen.

I have no man, as my hands say plainly,

But between the hours of one and nine,

The lush green wheat is almost enough.

I cannot describe the smell of spring

It is like fresh milk and old dreams,

And the drops of dew on bare feet.

Remind us, Creator, that though we fail

The Earth retains her dignity,

And through rebirth revives our spirit.