May 2005
Poem and picture by: MaidMotherCrone


How green we were
unfolding
fresh and shy as
new spring leaves,
precarious, risking
each cold loose stone
and the threat of
one last
killing frost.

O but in
our hollow places
how we already knew
Midsummer's sun,
the deluge and
the thunder, knew
Bacchus' own love
for each tender
sprig of grapevine
and why Spring
does not fear
the scythe.

11/17/2004 K. Kahan

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