The cherry trees are disconsolate lovers
they can’t hold their pink smiles
after the unkindness of that night.
The wind here is straight from Chicago
it will snap you unless you bend.
The news from far-off money towns
is the clamor of falling towers.
they can’t hold their pink smiles
after the unkindness of that night.
The wind here is straight from Chicago
it will snap you unless you bend.
The news from far-off money towns
is the clamor of falling towers.
Yet my woolly dog is happy chasing
a well-chewed stick and a wet spaniel,
a green-headed duck is talking quarks
with a brown-headed duck on the lake shore
and my friend is reading poems of spring
in a language she knows only in dreams.
The wild cherries will bloom again.
a well-chewed stick and a wet spaniel,
a green-headed duck is talking quarks
with a brown-headed duck on the lake shore
and my friend is reading poems of spring
in a language she knows only in dreams.
The wild cherries will bloom again.
- - Lines in the Park, April 9, 2012
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