Wednesday, March 9, 2011

Frost Heaves Begone

The times that rhyme
first mourning dove
flutters overhead
oh sweet harbinger of spring
with your melancholy notes
nestling with such supple grace
into cochlear canals
olfactory anticipation
for
sea pickle pea shoots
and
tender fresh basin mussels
the flavors of warmth and sunshine
soon upon our tongues shall be

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