Of course, no promises were made in words;
\nit’s more a matter of belief
\nthat the planet will revolve
\naround the Sun, and gradually
\nour countryside will be inclined—
\nliterally—
\nin such a way that we
\nand all the ice and snow,
\nthereafter, grass and flowers
\nand trees and bees and birds
\nand wintered doggy turds
\nwill melt and go and feel and glow
\nand grow.
\nBut still amid the promises
\nof these bright hard days
\nbestrewn with lingering snowbergs
\nand gardens shrouded in accumulated gray crust,
\nwe see lush vivid photos of Vangroovy,
\nmonths ahead and,
\nmired in our post-winter wantering,
\ngreen ourselves instead.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I use the word which is the title of this poem in an e-mail to a friend who sent me pictures of the luscious spring vegetation in Vangroovy gardens, right now. (#1051) Continue reading