The true season yet to commence

A Time For Like Things

Spring makes its sound, the hammering of straw,
the chitter of avian hydraulics in heavy string gather
as the industries of nestbuilding steer well underway.

The sun lengthens now as shadows shorten and
everywhere green claims what was strewn bereft
and withered the winter long. It is a time for like things.

A small cricket climbs the screen door, an explorer, perhaps,
seeking new realms for his queen, lacking proper knowledge
of vernagraphy, promised some dear reward for ultimate risk.

This will go on even as the true season has yet to commence.
Bees with their technology; groundlings their endless engineering;
erupting grasses stoking their cauldrons with photosynthesis.

And poets will pause to look out of windows, sit or stand
beneath thin spectrums of visible light and hail the sky for
its bounty, its perfect caress of sun; offer the day its alphabet.

Joseph Gallo
February 28, 2008