Don’t you just love those spontaneous discoveries of ‘treasure,’ those ‘golden moments!’ The other day, during a rare clear up, I unearthed a bunch of poems I wrote almost 20 years ago, maybe even earlier. So, to celebrate the long-awaited arrival of Summer, here’s Spring Festival:
After forty days and forty nights
Snowdrops drip their way into the wings,
a flurry of forsythia.
Brash daffs polishing tarnished trumpets
weave a mixed melody.
After the gold rush, smoke gets in your eyes